


For Love And Legacy

by Aelara_Vayne



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Age Changes, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arya is Pro-Lannister, F/M, Magic-Users, Original Character(s), Pseudo-Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-05 11:54:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 19
Words: 52,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4178877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aelara_Vayne/pseuds/Aelara_Vayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arya sold her soul for power and Jaime sold his for love. Only one of them got what they paid for, but Jaime hasn't given up yet. Not when he's found the one thing worth fighting for: his son.</p><p>Temp Warning: Under revision. 5 of 19 chapters revised.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> Occurs post-Red Wedding, but ages and time periods are changed around to lessen the age difference a bit. The time between Ned Stark coming to the Capital and the start of the story is 5 years. Arya is 17, Jaime is about 34, Tywin is in his fifties (having had the twins at about 20), Tommen is about 2 and a half. Arya was 12 back at the start of GoT, Jaime was 29, Tommen was conceived right before Jaime left the Capital for the War (figure 9-10 months for Cersei being pregnant after that point), but the war only lasted about 3 years and Ned Stark was in the Capital for about 2 years. 
> 
> One last thing, I listen to music while I write, and the themes of the song generally direct the feeling of the character in a scene. So I figured if anyone gets curious about the song behind a chapter, I'd put the name in the note. Absolutely optional to listen to, but I suppose it comes out to a fanmix when the whole thing is done.
> 
> Song for this chapter: Lion by Hollywood Undead

King's Landing was no less repugnant than the last time she had been there, and that was five years ago. The stench of the all but rotting city was overwhelming, and she had to fight the urge to lift a scented scrap of cloth to her nose to mask the smell. Such a reprieve, while tempting, would be displaying weakness. And Arya despised showing weakness; no matter how little.

Besides, Tywin was enduring the same without so much as grimacing, so Arya couldn't very well let herself be outdone. That didn't mean she couldn't complain.

"I'd sooner have stayed at home, father," she hissed in equal parts reverence and bad temper. No matter how annoyed she may be at being dragged along to a 'Royal' wedding between her despised 'nephew', her least enjoyable acquisition from joining House Lannister, and a little Tyrell Queen-to-be, Arya couldn't bring herself to be fully rude with Tywin. It was to him that she owed all her newfound wealth and influence.

"As would I, but our presence is both expected and necessary. It would give away our position to not be seen at my grandson's wedding," Tywin replied with no inflection. He had likely heard far too much of her grousing, but, to his credit, he never admonished her for it. More than likely, he shared her distaste for the Capital and all those housed within.

"My sweet sister wants you for her Hand," Arya pointed out sourly. "She's been trying to get you to agree for years, but this time I fear she'll have grown tired of asking and demand it of you."

"Children do not _demand_ things of their parents," Tywin corrected in a voice of iron. "And be clear, it is King Joffrey who is in need of a Hand, and his Grace will learn not to demand things of me; same as his predecessors. My place is in the West, preparing it for the winter, and, after this farce, we will return there."

"I said what I meant," Arya spat, but allowed some good humor to creep into her heart. "I hear it's your son who really needs a 'hand' anyway."

Tywin didn't bother replying this time, and Arya could see his mouth twitch at the sides in an effort to quell what would have been a dark scowl. He had been in a foul mood since word had reached the Rock that Jaime had both survived his Northern imprisonment as well as returned to the Capital. That had been _months_ ago, and Arya had grown tired of avoiding the subject. Robb and his bannermen were already defeated and feeding the crows, and Tywin was still annoyed about Jaime. Patience was a virtue she had in abundance, but only for things that concerned her personally. Her father's enduring anger at his first and second born sons was something that only served to exasperate Arya.

She could sympathize with his fury after learning about Jaime's affair with his twin, but that was old news now, and the punishment had already been doled out. Even if the affected didn't know they had been punished yet. Word of the Lannister twins crimes had spread throughout the Westerlanders quickly during the war, and, eventually, even Tywin could not ignore them. A well placed inquiry had proven the rumors to be true, and her father's anger had been a frightful thing to behold for those unfortunate enough to see it up close.

Arya had been just fourteen, and a cupbearer to him at Harrenhal at the time. For a time, she believed she had fooled him about her identity, but soon learned that no one fooled Tywin Lannister. So she spent her half days nursing grievances with commanders of Tywin's army, the Queen, and Joffrey, and the other half hoping fervently that Robb would bring her home soon. But the days and weeks had dragged on like years, and her brother had continued refusing to trade for her and Sansa, who was still in the Capital. Winter started to creep in, and Arya realized one morning, as Tywin read an intercepted raven's scroll aloud about how Robb had arranged a marriage for her to one of Walder Frey's grandsons without her consent, that her brother just didn't _care_ enough to save her from the South.

Figuring that out had rocked to her the core and left her despondent. She walked through the halls of Harrenhal, an already depressing place, like a ghost with dead eyes. Until Tywin had taken her aside one night and given her a lecture that she still refused to forget.

" _Do not rely on others to do your saving for you, girl_ ," he had said to her with his warm hands on her shoulders. It had made her feel like a child listening to her father for the first time in his presence. He had always been kind to her, but never had he allowed her to see anything more than his cold facade. " _If you want to be free, then you'll need to seize it yourself. I've grown fond of you, impetuous as you are, and it disappoints me to see you go so meekly into self-mourning._ "

Arya had known that he didn't mean for her to try to escape, but for a time she considered it and her impassive stare turned cunning. At the time, she thought she could hide her emotions well enough, but Tywin had seen through her again and offered her a new path. On the day that she had planned to run away in the night, he informed her that they were going west to Casterly Rock and she would accompany him and he would make a place for her there. " _If you're here come morning, of course_ ," he had added with a raised eyebrow.

By this point, she had been sitting in on all his war councils in the guise of serving the gathered commanders wine and water. Each day and each peek at his maps and letters, she learned a little more about warfare and how it was waged. She listened to every speech and tactic, and, sometimes, she managed to guess the next move before Tywin even announced it. She envied his power and how every man waited with held breath to hear him speak. Watching from over his shoulder, the lust for power had begun to take root in her soul to fill the gaping hole where family once sat. If she couldn't have her old life back, then she wanted to build an even better one all on her own.

Arya knew herself well enough to know that she could never look Robb in the eye again, so where else did she have to go? She wanted to learn, and here was the best in the Seven Kingdoms giving her that chance. Her mind was made up instantaneously, and she cornered Jaqen and called off their escape. It wasn't until years later that she realized that Tywin would have never let her escape in the first place, but he still let her make the choice to follow. She loved him even more for it.

Turning her eyes away from Tywin and back to the looming city gates, she could make out several heads skewered on them. Her own father's head, her 'real' father, had long been removed, but she could still remember the sight as though it was yesterday. Somehow, seeing his severed head on the wall had been more upsetting than watching it roll down the steps of the Sept of Baelor, staining the ground red as it stopped at the feet of a city watchman. None of the memories bothered her anymore; Arya Stark was a long dead girl, and Arya Lannister had a much brighter future waiting for her than marrying some nameless lord and giving him a few brat sons. Arya Lannister carried two fresh forged Valyrian steel swords at her sides and commanded the respect of all of Tywin's bannermen.

A smile graced her features as she slid a hand down to the hilt of the Lion, the sword she wielded with her left hand. The Wolf was wielded in her right, and they were beautiful to behold. The pommels were carved into the shape of the heads of the animals they were named for, and polished till the golden lion gleamed and you could see yourself in the eyes of the grey wolf. Together they represented her life and the dual nature of her soul; both a Northerner and, yet, still a Southerner. A Stark made over as a Lannister. As much she-wolf as she was lioness.

The swords were all that was left of the ancient spell-forged sword Ice of House Stark, and Arya was glad to have them. She may not be loyal to the Starks anymore, but she could do Ned Stark one last kindness by one day cutting off Joffrey and Ser Ilyn's head with the Wolf. Even though she knew that he would never want a tribute to him done in blood, however, he wasn't here to complain either.

Her hood kept hitting her cheeks gently as the cool air blew through the city. She pulled it up further and surveyed the state of the streets. Abysmal is what she would call them if asked. The small folk seemed to cower back from their party as they steered their horses towards the Red Keep. Every single person looked underfed and weak, and the city felt subdued. It was a far cry from the bustling, lively city she had seen in her youth. These people were dying in droves, she knew from the piles of bodies stacked in alleys that they passed, and it wasn't even winter yet.

The last winter had been shockingly short, but the summer following it had been even shorter. This time the winds were blowing frighteningly cold, and the war had left every hold in the Seven Kingdoms scrambling to prepare. The Reach and the West were best off aside from Dorne, where the winter rarely touched. Arya had seen to it that the Westerlands were both ready to endure a long winter as well as any conflict that might occur during that winter. It had been the first job she had been put in charge of, while she was still a Stark, and it gave her the chance to bond herself to many of the principal Lords of the West, who appreciated the food she had sent to stock their stores.

Tywin had trusted her not to spend his unimaginable wealth without care, and she had been with him long enough to want to do the job perfectly. Making her father proud had always filled her with a sense of great accomplishment; she was succeeding where Cersei had failed. So Arya had put sent assistance to farms all throughout the West to ensure the harvests had excellent yield. For every farmer soldier she liberated from the war, she replaced him with a well trained, and well paid, sellsword. This meant that the army teemed with real fighters while they still managed to get ahead on food stores. With her taking care of the preparations for winter, Tywin had more time to devote to the war effort. It wasn't until after her official adoption that they had switched jobs, and then Arya had finished his work for him on the battlefield. That's when people began to look at her as a true Lannister, when she got down into the mud and shed blood for their House. Now, the soldiers of the West all knew her by name, face, and reputation. She issued an order, and they jumped to like Tywin himself had given it.

She could see the steps of the Red Keep now, ones she remembered seeing for the first time only five short years ago, but this time they were all but hidden by the swarm of knights and Kingsguard. The welcome party hadn't been quite so interesting the last time, Arya recalled, since the Starks had ridden long behind the King after the incidents at Darry. She had to fight down a shiver of equal parts lust and lingering annoyance as she recalled what happened there. It left her looking forward to her interactions with Jaime to say the least. She hoped that he remembered that night as clearly as she did, but it didn't matter if he had forgotten; Arya would remind him.

Now the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Jaime was at the forefront with the strained smile and a hand of solid gold to match what was left of his once beautiful hair. His cloak was as white as it was years ago, but Arya would have sworn it looked brighter back then. His armor was as brilliant, but it couldn't redeem the plain fact that Jaime Lannister looked like a shell of his former self. He was still as handsome as she remembered, but his eyes looked haunted even from this distance. The dark circles under his eyes gave his lack of sleep away, and he was fidgeting instead of exuding confidence like a lion.

Arya's interest was piqued though, and she found herself staring at him as she did the first time she saw him as a young girl. She was too young to appreciate his pleasing face back then, but she could acknowledge his handsome features now that she was a woman. The years had not been kind to him, but he was still stunningly beautiful. His hair was cropped short, but appeared to be in the process of growing back. His face was only slightly lined at the corners of his eyes and it was his scars that aged him more than anything. A quick look at Tywin reminded her that Lannisters seemed to age well.

Still, the only thing that seemingly _hadn't_ changed about the Kingslayer was his dagger-like smile that cut across his face; at least he faked it well enough.

"Hello father," Jaime called when they got close enough. "Good to see you again. I hope you didn't worry too much about me during my imprisonment."

He looked as unhappy to see Tywin as Arya knew her father was to see him. Their enmity was mutual then, she observed and made a note to pry one of them about it later. She expected that Jaime would be the saving grace of this little misadventure, so she looked forward to the chance to interact with her new 'sibling'. Perhaps more than cursory investigation would take place as well, if reports of Cersei's newfound disgust in her twin were true. Nothing would please Arya more than to steal away something that belonged to the Queen of Cunts.

"On the contrary, I was preoccupied with winning a war. I had little time to spare on thinking about a reckless commander who got himself captured," Tywin deadpanned. He didn't bother to dismount as he rode past Jaime and Arya smirked under her hood.

"Wonderful to see you too," Jaime muttered under his breath before looking up at Arya. "Welcome my Lady, I don't believe we've had the pleasure." He didn't recognize her, but she could scarcely blame him. Her hair had been a mess back then and she wore simple Northern dresses. Now her hair was long enough that, should she release it from its tie, it would flow down her back like a river. Her clothes were elaborate and done in crimson befitting a Lannister. However, who he thought she was, riding by Tywin's side, she did not know. A dignitary from the Riverlands, probably.

With a sharp smile she decided to correct him in his assumptions. She pulled up on her reigns to stop her mare and dismounted fluidly. Her shoulders rolled slightly to stretch as she approached and removed her gloves. "We have," Arya finally corrected and lowered her hood to stare him in the eyes as she added, "Brother."


	2. A Tale of Two Fathers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song for the Chapter: Lullaby by Nickelback (You'll have to trust me on this one. Preferably the music video.)
> 
> Happy Father's Day to Jaime, more or less.

It was a few hours after the arrival of the wedding guests from the West, and he was still reeling. "You... adopted Arya Stark," Jaime repeated for what felt like the thousandth time. His father looked as unfazed as he had been when Jaime burst into his chambers an hour ago. The years apart had not made Tywin any more forgiving of foolishness, and Jaime knew he was being foolish at this point. Certainly there must have been a clear reason for adopting the girl rather than arranging her a marriage to a suitable Lord. Jaime never claimed to understand everything his father did, but it often turned out for the best.

It had been years since he had seen the little Stark girl, and now she was a proper woman. Beautiful and looking more like her aunt Lyanna than ever. Her legs and torso seemed to have grown into match her long face, and now she stood just shorter than Jaime himself. He hadn't even recognized her under the crimson silk and fine leather of her riding clothes, and, when she spoke, her voice was cool and composed instead of its old petulant tone. Clearly, his father had been hard at work in making a civilized woman of the wild beast that she used to be, because she reminded him of his father in every way. Even her eyes had grown colder until they looked more steel than ash.

"She is now a Lannister, and, unless you have something of substance to say, I suggest you take your leave, Lord Commander," Tywin replied without ever lifting his eyes from whatever it was he was currently writing. Ever warm and inviting, Jaime thought sarcastically.

"I just want to know _why_ ," he bit out in annoyance. Surely his father didn't need to torture him for a simple answer. There had to be a reason, and Jaime felt entitled to know what it was since it warranted giving him a new sister. He wanted to know why his father, who had despised his youngest son, was willing to open his home and his heart to a girl with whom he shared no blood.

Tywin glared impassively at him and dismissed him with an icy response, "That is no concern of yours, and I expect that you'll keep your distance from your new sister. Lest we have another scandal on our hands."

Jaime didn't like the implications in that sentence, nor the way his father's eyes darkened as he said it, but he covered it with a jape, "Hand, singular, in my case." His father had given no credence to the 'rumors' about him and Cersei before, so he likely didn't give them any more thought now either. If he had come to believe the truth, then Jaime would have expected himself to be hanging from the gates by now. Not even his son would get away with tarnishing his father's glorious legacy.

His response got a reaction out of Tywin as he glared coolly at Jaime's new appendage with obvious distaste. It seemed as though his father was as displeased to see Jaime 'short-handed' as he was himself. Likely, he believed Jaime shouldn't have come back alive if he wasn't going to come back whole. He wouldn't be alone in that opinion if Cersei's utter rejection of Jaime's recent advances was anything to go on.

His sister had all but abandoned him since he had returned to the Capital. She not only shunned him from her bed, but from her side as well. His twin had demanded Ser Meryn as a personal guard at all times, and Jaime was left following behind Joffrey most of his days while Ser Loras, the arrogant little rose, was free to guard his own sister, Margaery. The only other Kingsguard Cersei would deal with was the Kettleblack, and he kowtowed to her in a way that made Jaime's blood boil. His sister graced the lout with her brilliant smiles and sent Jaime her anger. It was as if their promises, their love and the bond of blood between them, suddenly didn't exist and Jaime was some unwashed peasant begging for her attention. The only good thing about being stuck as Lord Commander to a brutal King and half-mad Queen was that no one missed him when he shirked duties under the guise of leadership.

His father eventually decided that he would stand Jaime's presence no longer, a common occurrence as of late, and snapped, "Go; I have work to do and I'll not be distracted by your blathering."

"It was lovely to catch up, father," Jaime spat angrily as he left the room before Tywin could make a comment on his tone. How had so much changed in under three years? He could withstand his father's disdain if only he hadn't already had his fill of Cersei's scorn. Lannisters were not known for their inviting personalities, but at least they hadn't turned on each other in the past. It was as if his time as a captive had allowed the whole world to turn itself upside down while he was away. Cersei despised him, his father despised him, Arya Stark was now Arya Lannister, and Joff himself was as mad as Aerys. Jaime had killed one Mad King and made another.

Not for the first time, he longed to talk to Tyrion, but his brother wasn't there. Jaime thought about him as he walked quickly down to the seaside to at least _swing_ his sword, even if he couldn't cut anyone with it. Unfortunately the lack of connecting blows made the stress relief negligible.

Tyrion was in exile and his little Stark wife was missing. His brother had been cast off by Joffrey not long after the Battle of the Blackwater, which would have been lost without him. All Jaime knew was what Cersei told him, and that was that Tyrion had killed Ser Mandon Moore in the fight for some unknown reason. He didn't believe a word of it, and it upset him that Cersei couldn't even spin him a pretty lie to tell himself at night to justify why he stayed loyal to his vows. Sansa was gone in the night before she could be questioned, and Jaime half feared his sister had murdered her and wouldn't tell him.

It would be fitting for how his life was going lately. He had made a vow to Catelyn Stark, and to Brienne before her death, and now both his charges were 'Lannisters'. The one daughter that should have been easy to find was gone, and the one that had been missing for years was suddenly in plain sight and calling him 'brother'. Arya Stark didn't seem to be in any hurry to get home either, so it seemed his vow was all but useless.

"Uncle?" a small voice sounded and he looked down to see Tommen clutching a castle wall. Jaime forced himself to relax visibly and smile; Tommen might be the _only_ person to enjoy his company lately. He might be the only one Jaime enjoyed being near as well.

"Nephew," he greeted cheerfully and swept the small boy into his arms. Tommen immediately pressed his face into Jaime's neck and hugged him back. They had grown quite close, no matter how inadvisable that was, in their mutual lack of affection from Cersei. For someone who prided herself on being an infallible mother, Cersei had all but abandoned this cub. Every time she spoke of him it was to compare him unfavorably to his brother or deride him for some small matter that she couldn't be bothered with. It broke Jaime's heart every time and forced him to break every promise he made to himself not to get any closer. Tommen was safer the further Jaime stayed away, but he just couldn't pull back when he saw him so deeply lonely.

Jaime half wondered if Cersei's rejection was because Tommen looked so very much like himself. The boy was so obviously his son that most Lords had given up concealing their glances back and forth between them at feasts. None, of course, were stupid enough to voice their opinions on the matter to the King or his mother. Though, at this point, most would be too frightened to raise issue with it if the truth was revealed. Joffrey was a maniac with people who dared to cough too loudly in his presence, so Gods help anyone who thought to call him illegitimate to his face. Jaime hoped that one day he'd be able to look the little shit in the face, smile, and detail how he fucked his mother while his 'father' was passed out beside them. Telling him that Ned Stark had been right all along.

Shaking himself from his dark thoughts, an admittedly difficult task, he looked down at the boy in his arms. He was smiling now that Jaime had hold of him. Tommen even smelled like himself, he noted as he pressed his nose into the feather soft blonde hair on his son's head. The Gods had given him one blessing in his cub's health and freedom from madness.

Tommen was two now, as he had been conceived right before Jaime left the Capital to lead the siege in the Riverlands. He was a lucky boy to have been conceived just before Robert's death, and allowed him to be counted among his children. Cersei had carried him during the early days of the war, and he was born not long after Jaime's imprisonment. To this day, he felt an immense guilt for having missed his birth, but he knew it was unavoidable. It may not have changed anything anyway; he had been there for Joffrey's birth and that didn't change that Jaime found him to be an insufferable cunt.

What little emotion he had felt at the birth of Myrcella, who remained in Dorne, and Joffrey had been apparently bottled up until Jaime saw Tommen for the first time. This boy wasn't his nephew or his niece, as the first two had been, this child was his _son_. And not even Cersei could take that from him this time. She had always insisted so viciously that he stay away from the fruits of their union that Jaime had ignored the first two children until after they were walking and talking. Now he would give his other hand to go back and experience the early years that he missed for Tommen.

His son suffered deeply, as the least loved child of an already cruel woman, and Jaime felt more guilt for who his mother was than the fact that he was his father. And, as much as it pained him to think of his twin as 'cruel', he knew that Tommen would flourish better away from his mother. His boy was shy and quiet, often hiding from everyone that wasn't Jaime, and it stifled his bright mind.

Together they weathered the storms that were Cersei's moods lately. Some night she raged, others she boasted, most she drank all the way through. It was if he blinked and suddenly Robert had taken up residence in his sister's skin. That wasn't what frightened him most though: it was the idea that she had always been like this and he hadn't noticed. Perhaps she had, because Jaime knew himself well enough to know he was only interested in sex before. The emotional side was something for husbands and wives, not for twins getting up to interesting mischief, as he had been fond of thinking of their time together. He had always kept himself as a brother to her emotionally even as they were still lovers. But now he was both celibate and without a sister, while Cersei 'ruled' and Joffrey brutalized and the city rotted around them.

One day, he promised himself and his son silently, one day, he'd make things better for the both of them. The truth was, though, that he had no clue how it would work. He was bound to the Kingsguard for life, and he wouldn't insult the memory of his brothers in arms who died before him by abandoning it without good cause. Yet, every month that flew past him, Tommen grew meeker when he should have been becoming a bold little lion cub. They had dressed a lion as a stag and forced him to dine on grass.

"I don't remember you being the pensive type," his new 'sister's' voice came from somewhere he couldn't see. "It's a nice change from your annoyingly loud mouth and cocky affectation, but strangely I seem to miss it anyway."

"My Lady," Jaime said as sweetly as a poisoned arrow in the heart. He was in no mood to entertain her today. "If you're lost, I'd be happy to escort you back to the castle."

Arya appeared from behind a rock and he had to stare at her attire. She had changed out of her traveling clothes and into an outfit better suited for a whore than a Lady of the Rock. It appeared to be a corset and leather breeches; both made too small. Her arms and shoulders were bare and Jaime felt his face heat. Tommen turned to look at her and Jaime reflexively covered the boy's eyes to keep him innocent. What had she been thinking wearing that outside the castle walls? Any man with a cock between his legs was a threat when she was walking around looking like something out of a brothel. He could name at least three of his own Kingsguard who wouldn't think twice about dragging her into a dark corner and breaking their vows for a few hours.

She seemed to find his unwillingness to look at her amusing, because she laughed and said, "Spare me, I train in less during the summer. This is conservative for my usual swordplay dress off the field. You should see what I wore during the hottest parts of the summer; the men of Lannisport made grand excuses to visit the Rock to watch me train. Luckily, my soldiers are better at keeping their fantasies for the privacy of their bedchambers." She approached him slowly, with swaying hips that teased him against his own wishes, and continued, "One would think that a man like you would be as eager to make memory of it."

"Perhaps I misjudged why my father was so eager to bring you into the family," Jaime sneered even as he pointed his eyes _anywhere_ but on her nearly visible tits. Her bosom wasn't overflowing from the tight clothing, but it was definitely on full display. If he had to guess, she had picked the outfit specifically for hunting him down, if he remembered her nature right from Darry. She had been staring after him even then, and time probably hadn't helped quell those desires. He was accustomed to having women throw themselves at him, as he had been on the receiving end of the behavior since he was thirteen, but it still surprised him that the little Stark was the type.

Arya laughed, a colder sound than it should be though it sounded genuine, and replied, "That's not his vice. Only yours." Jaime carefully put on a mask of amusement to conceal the surge of anger he felt at her statement. It was clear that she was trying to hit him where it would hurt, but damn her if it wasn't working. Tommen didn't need to hear this from her. His son was blissfully ignorant of the situation surrounding his birth, and Jaime intended to keep it that way.

"Then if you'll excuse me my Lady, we'll be going," Jaime purred as he moved to step around her. The sly bitch stepped into his path again and he reared back with a proper glare this time. The Lannister name suddenly fit her well.

"No I don't think I will," she cut back with a sharp smile and looked down at Tommen. "Who is this handsome little lion?"

"Tommen," his son piped politely from behind Jaime's golden hand. Arya reached out and gently pushed his 'hand' out of the way to get a better look at the boy. Jaime was annoyed beyond all reason, but he didn't need to set a bad example on how to treat Ladies for Tommen. He very nearly snarled that his son was, in fact, a stag, but he felt it'd call too much attention to her phrasing and nothing made Jaime sicker than even thinking of saying it.

"My, you're a lovely one, aren't you?" she spoke softly, melodically, to Jaime's surprise. Up till now, he had only heard her speak in cruelly twisting tones and biting sarcasm. Pretty much as all his kin did. This new tone suited her loveliness much better, he determined. "You must have been born after I left King's Landing. I take it you're the little Prince?"

Tommen frowned slightly, but nodded. His son didn't like to be called a Prince for some strange reason, but Jaime had never succeed in getting an answer about why. More than likely, he felt ill being lumped in with Joffrey as part of the Royal family. His brother was cruel beyond reason to Tommen and Jaime had to restrain himself from being a kinslayer as well as a kingslayer twice over.

Out of the blue, Arya leaned in and pressed a kiss to Tommen's head before Jaime could pull the both of them back. "You seem sweet enough," she commented with the same gentle tone as before. It worked as a spell on Tommen who perked up and his bright green eyes sparkled at Arya. His whole demeanor relaxed and Jaime could tell that he liked her, which, in turn, helped to make Jaime relax as well.

"Thank you, m'Lady," Tommen mumbled shyly and Jaime was proud of how well his son could speak at such an age. Jaime hadn't been half as advanced at the same, and it gave him pleasure to know he hadn't passed his own limitations onto his boy. Unfortunately, he must have beamed a little too brightly at his son because Arya fixed him with a knowing stare. Just as Jaime went to frown at her, she smiled slightly and swept a hand down towards the sea.

"Shall we?" she asked with a quirked up eyebrow and a casual hand rested on one of her sword hilts. He had to wonder how she knew he was going down there to train.

"As you wish, my Lady," Jaime acquiesced and hoped he wouldn't regret it later.

 

* * *

 

They walked in silence to the place where Jaime often trained with Ser Ilyn. Lately he trained alone more often than not, but it didn't help him improve. It was still better than being mocked by a mute's eyes and clucking noises.

His new sister carried not one, but two swords at her hips, and Jaime was curious as to why. Fighting with two blades was a rather uncommon style for Westeros, so where had she learned? Not only that, but it was a very difficult thing to master. Jaime had been training from the age of six with just one sword and wasn't considered to be 'talented' until he was thirteen. This girl would be seventeen now and couldn't have started training before the age of twelve. By then, it should have been too late to learn. But then what did that say about his endeavors to learn with his left?

When they reached the area, he set Tommen down on a outcropped rock and gave him a quick kiss on the top of his head. His son gave a delighted mew of pleasure and tilted his head up to press a kiss of his own to Jaime's cheek. For good measure, he showered a few more on the little boy before walking over to where Arya was standing. He wasn't quite sure why she wanted to accompany them, and he was a little annoyed but willing to investigate her skills.

Arya gave a quick glance at the roaring sea crashing against the rocks and then one towards Tommen. "I take it he can't hear us?" she asked with a hushed tone that even he strained to catch.

"No," he responded louder. He was often happy to know that Tommen couldn't hear his loud curses of frustration when he trained, so he couldn't likely hear a conversation between them now. He was appreciative that she thought to ask before saying anything inflammatory.

"He's beautiful," Arya commented with a slight toss of her head in Tommen's direction. "Seems at least one good thing came of your mistakes." Wasn't that the truth, he thought as he scowled at her viciously. It filled him with anger that was better directed at himself, because she was right and he knew it.

"I'd ask that you keep your rumors to yourself," Jaime growled as he fumbled with his sword. "Did you come here to spar, my Lady, or gossip?" She didn't look impressed with his response and drew one of her own swords, the one for her left hand. The shine of the dark metal left him half blind for a moment as his mind registered what he was looking at in her hand.

"That's Valyrian steel," he exclaimed hotly. "Where in the Seven Hells did you get that?" His eyes fell on the second sword with fear that it was also made of the rare steel. The same type of sword he had never owned despite years of longing. To say he was jealous was a deep understatement. House Lannister's sword, Brightroar, had been lost for centuries and he had lost an uncle in the most recent effort of trying to reclaim it. Now this little girl had at least one; possibly two.

"They were nameday presents from father," she taunted mockingly; again, she knew exactly where to cut to hurt him most.

All at once Jaime was furious. Furious at her for calling his father her own, when she already had a father who had loved her back. Furious that his father had gifted an adopted wolf pup with something he had never thought to give to his firstborn son; swords he could have passed to his own son. All the rage inside him from the past several months of shit he had endured bubbled up at this moment. All of Cersei's rejection, his father's disregard, Brienne and her fate for saving his life. The years he spent as Robb Stark's prisoner. His brother's plight and his son's lonely life. It all came roaring back like the lion he was failing at being. He wanted his _life_ back, and this girl suddenly felt like a proper target for all his building pain.

He swung before he could he could even process what he was doing, and, the next thing he knew, the beautiful sword was blocking his own. She pushed him back and swung at him fluidly. It was with barest fractions of a second that he managed to get his own sword up in time to block the blow, but he staggered back at the force. She was strong. The girl didn't look like much, but her swing was as good as Brienne's and that was truly saying something. His heart clenched as he thought of his friend, and he was blinded by rage again.

Again, he lunged and she parried. Arya smiled wide and continued to put him to absolute shame. Suddenly her choice of attire, as he broke out into a heavy sweat, didn't seem so odd. It allowed her a good range of motion and she looked cool and comfortable. Jaime, on the other hand, had never felt so defeated. All his training and he couldn't be a seventeen year old girl, who, he noted, was also using her left.

She was obviously, patronizingly, careful not to cut him as they sparred for a few minutes, and that just made it so much worse for Jaime. He was tired of being unmanned and it appeared that was all he would find here today.

A sweep of her leg out of nowhere, and he was flat on his back with her sword at his throat. The point rested on his skin and a drop of his blood welled up instantaneously. The pressure of the sword was removed a moment later and a hand was thrust down at him to pull him to his feet. A simple glance at Tommen, all wide eyes and concern, and Jaime didn't even want to take it. Sinking into the ground and ceasing to exist felt like a better option. He finally took it after she refused to withdraw it.

"You're better than expected," Arya remarked in an oddly impressed tone. "I had expected you to be hopeless, but you've clearly trained well with the left. With a little more work--."

"I was just beaten handily by a woman half my age," Jaime snarled while turning away to hide his shame from Tommen. There went any chances of his son looking up to him. He had so fervently hoped that Tommen would still find him worthy of admiration and aspire to be like him in some ways. Hoped that his son would adopt his best qualities, and listen when Jaime helped to ward off his worst. Now, his son would turn to another for a mentor, and Jaime would have to endure listening to another person dear to him praise someone else.

Arya, to his surprise, laughed but not cruelly. "If you knew how many men I've beaten at swordplay, you might feel better. I haven't lost since I was still sparring with Broom at the Rock." Broom was the master-at-arms who had also trained Jaime, and he had been beating him since before he was a squire, so that made him feel all the worse.

"Boasting isn't an attractive quality, my Lady," he muttered and rubbed at a sore shoulder.

"I'm not boasting." And maybe she wasn't, given how easily she had put him in his place, but Jaime had to believe that she was at least worse than he used to be. If he started letting himself fear that she was good enough to beat him at his best, then he would truly be undone.

Feeling like a child beaten at a game of 'knights and maidens', he interjected, "You were also using your left."

"My left is my dominant hand," Arya responded and her eyebrow went up again. "When I tell you you've done well, you've done _well_. It's no faint praise coming from me, and one you'll not hear again if you keep complaining. Now stop sulking at come at me again. Don't let your son see his father give up so easily." Jaime didn't even bother correcting her as he lunged again and dove right back into the fight.

 

* * *

 

Two hours later and they were both sweating, though Arya less so, and had taken seats on the rocks on either side of Tommen, who seemed delighted by the sparring. Jaime had improved after a few rounds and felt better when he managed to defend well enough to not get any wounds. After a while, she had stopped taking it easy on him, and he could appreciate that at least. Pity would have been far too bitter to swallow. If he was going to lose, he preferred to lose with dignity. Now the center of attention was his son, who's excitement was making Jaime feel more like he had just fought through a whole war and won rather than losing to a girl during a spar.

"How old are you, youngling?" Arya asked Tommen sweetly and Jaime had to marvel again at how much her cold demeanor could change when she spoke to him. It was like she was going from a glacier to a warm hearth in a single question. He realized suddenly that it was because she reminded him of his father so immensely that her change in personality threw him every time. When she wasn't speaking, her face sat in a single expression with little given away. She still managed to be cocky, but that was mostly youth. It was as though she was a younger Tywin, before the years and loss of his wife had beaten all the joy out of him. Then, when she spoke to Tommen, Jaime was reminded of his own mother; gentle and soft, but still proud and strong.

"Two," Tommen chirped happily. He was leaning against Jaime but playing with the pommel of Arya's sword, the one with the Lion's head. Jaime hadn't seen him so outgoing and happy in... Once he thought about it, he realized he had never seen his son look so content with a stranger.

"Mm, you'll be fighting with a sword soon enough. You'll want to be just like your Uncle Jaime, won't you?" He gave a start at the realization that she had censored herself, and he sent her a grateful look. She kept her smile in place as her eyes found his for a moment.

And, Gods, if her darkened eyes didn't send a whole wave of lust through him at once. He bit the inside of his mouth to keep himself silent and get his emotion in check. Fighting _always_ made him want to fuck, and this was no exception. His mind supplied all sorts of things he'd love to do with her. I could make you cry out for hours on end, he thought hungrily. But his face betrayed no emotion until she looked away and he grimaced from the effort. It had been so long since he had felt so much lust for Cersei and needed to hide it in the face of others that he had almost forgotten the control it required. His primal urges had always been a little too strong for control anyway, and this girl had a way of getting on the wrong side of them since Darry.

He could probably seduce her if he tried, he knew. She was obviously interested from her demeanor, and their short past together provided the opening. But Jaime was long accustomed to denying himself what he wanted most, and taking her to his bed could be disastrous. If Cersei was to learn of it, Arya would meet a far worse fate than Brienne and his father would likely hang him on the spot. So he bottled up the thoughts and his pent up needs and stored them away in the back of his mind. He could always take himself in hand later in the night.

His son was oblivious to this exchange and bounced a bit with joy next to Jaime. "I want to be _just_ like him," Tommen announced proudly, only tripping over a few words. Jaime felt his heart nearly burst from love and he wrapped his good arm around Tommen to cradle his son to his chest. The little boy nuzzled the soft leather of his coat and closed his eyes. They sat in silence together for almost another quarter of an hour as the sun set, and, when he looked down, his boy was fast asleep. Jaime lifted him carefully into his arms and stood to head back up to the castle. When he held his son, it was as though he had the most precious thing in the world in his arms and his lack of a hand never hindered him less.

Arya put a hand on his shoulder before he could walk away. "Does he know?" she asked softly with a nod towards Tommen.

"No, and he won't know," Jaime said firmly with a shake of his head. "He's a Prince. I won't put him at risk by changing that."

"He needs a father, Jaime," Arya said sternly, but her voice was more velvet glove than iron fist. "Not an uncle." Jaime wished that was true. He wished it with every breath he took. But if the truth got out, Tommen would be known as a bastard and nothing would sadden Jaime more. At least like this, Tommen had a future to look forward to as a Prince. He would inherit the Stormlands or Dragonstone when Stannis was defeated. Even if he acknowledged him as his son, Jaime wouldn't even be able to give him Casterly Rock because his father would never legitimize him.

So instead of agreeing, like he wished with all his heart that he could, he spat, "His father is dead." She frowned at him then and walked away before he could say anything more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised June 26th.  
> Much, much longer now with more detail about the setting and Jaime's feelings on it.


	3. Threads of Fate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of each chapter, plus editing, is written as I prepare to post each chapter. I write about 1200 or so words in a text editor, and then add in where I feel it's necessary on Ao3. Therefore, errors slip past me until the 3rd or so read through. Please point out the ones you notice!
> 
> Song for this Chapter: Under the Water by The Pretty Reckless

As enjoyable as the afternoon with Jaime had been, the welcome feast in the evening was still a potent reminder that this was not going to be a pleasurable visit. Arya had returned to her rooms and donned more appropriate clothing for the feast, making certain to adorn herself with jewelry and to let her hair flow freely down her back. She wasn't going to wear a gown, no matter how bitterly any of the Ladies of the Rock complained, but she could still look beautiful in a doublet designed specifically to fit her womanly body and her leather breeches.

She walked side by side with her father and held her head up high with a dangerous smirk. Her appearance was the perfect picture of superiority as she spotted Cersei, her vicious son, and his little Tyrell bride. They were greeting the guests who had arrived that day, as it was far more than just their party from the Rock, and all three smiled when they caught sight of Tywin. Cersei and Joffrey looked haughty as Tywin approached, likely preening at the fact that they had such a powerful bloodline, and Arya resisted the urge to gag.

"Your Grace," her father greeted the idiot King, ever tactful, and nodded to Cersei. "Daughter."

"Father. You've had a long journey," Cersei said sweetly as she moved to slid herself to Tywin's right, where Arya was standing, but she stepped up and blocked her path.

"Your Grace, Queen Mother," Arya said with false geniality. Cersei fixed her green eyes, more wildfire than emeralds, Arya noticed, on Arya and blanched.

"Who are you?" she demanded in a breathless, hushed voice, like she couldn't quite breathe.

"Your sister, by law," her father said with pride lacing his voice. Arya could have laughed because she knew he had done it just to upset Cersei. "Arya Lannister." Tywin looked unimpressed at Cersei's wild gaze flicking between the two of them, and at Joffrey's quickly enraging features. She smiled fully and waited for the fallout.

The little rose Queen spoke first and stepped up to grasp at her hands with a charming exclamation of, "It's good to meet you, my Lady! I'm Margaery. You must be Sansa's sister."

"Well," Arya said good-naturedly. "I used to be. Now I suppose I'm her sister-in-law. Funny how that happens. It's good to meet you as well, my Lady. Or," she paused to feign thinking for a moment and then smiled. "Should I call you 'your Grace'?" Margaery returned her smile two-fold and Arya could tell this girl was smarter than she appeared. Another player in the game, it seemed.

"You-Your wolf," Joffrey stuttered in rage. "I should have your _head_."

"Come now, my love," the Tyrell girl soothed to her furious betrothed. "Lady Arya has been very courteous. Leave the past in the past, and let's go greet the rest of the guests." Joffrey did _not_ look like he agreed, but shot his mother one long look and then followed his bride off into the crowd. Arya could see the hand not held in her's was balled up into a shaking fist.

Cersei had remained quiet this entire time, but she looked even more livid than her son. Tywin was staring down at her with a raised eyebrow as if to say 'what do you intend to do about it?'. Apparently the answer to that question was to whirl away from them and stalk into the crowd without another word, her Kingsguard following like trained dogs looking for a pat on the head. Arya found Jaime in the crowd, guarding from a place against the far wall, and their eyes met from across the room; he looked concerned by the interaction. She smiled provocatively at him and winked.

 

* * *

 

That night, she retreated to her chambers early and mused about Jaime and his little son. The man was everything she remembered and more, now that he had a human touch to his personality. And Tommen was a sweet boy. Arya found herself drawn to his happy smiles and soft voice like a mother lion to her cubs cries. It awakened a maternal instinct that she wasn't even aware that she had inside. It would have been worrying if she wasn't too busy worrying for the little boy. Cersei was as much a cunt, if not more, than when they had last met. And the woman had sent the Gold Cloaks after her to kill her back then.

Jaime had tried to kill her once too, under her direction, back at Darry, but she had told no one of it at the time. It followed her fight with Joffrey and Sansa's first betrayal. To this day, she could recall the fury within her when she learned that her friend had died for the pair's lies. Her sister had given her the first lessons on how little flesh and blood meant without loyalty. Now, Arya was as pleased as anyone to hear her sister was on the run from Cersei. It amused her that her sister's perfect little daydream had come crumbling down on her head. Jaime, though, she had promised him directly that she would cut his heart out for his botched murder attempt. It would have been as simple as telling the King in confidence, but she didn't need the King or Ned Stark to get her revenge for her, so she had concealed his attempt on her life for this long. To this day, not even Tywin was aware of it.

She knew that Cersei was the real culprit, but it didn't change that the only thing that kept her alive was the well timed glint of his dagger and her intuition. Well, that, and her ability to outrun a man in full plate armor. Arya could still remember her fist connecting with his jaw as she saw the shine of the dagger in the torchlight.

" _Would you like me to escort you back to Darry, my Lady_?"

A blush covered her cheeks, even though her frown didn't change, as she remembered his strategy for lowering her defenses enough to get close. Jaime had led her to believe he was going to kiss her. Looking back, she could scoff. No one had been interested in kissing Arya Horseface. Now that her body had caught up to her face though, she got plenty of attention from suitors. Sansa's teasing from years ago no longer held sway over her life, and it felt triumphant to overcome it. Arya now felt as beautiful Sansa, if not more; her sister had never managed to catch Jaime Lannister's eye.

Her charms obviously were in full effect today, because Jaime had been interested during their spar; she could see the gleam in his eyes. A shame that his cock was promised to the biggest cunt in Westeros, a fact she was interested in changing. A shame twice over that Tommen was Cersei's son, as the boy was a perfect little lion cub. Arya was not one for children, but the little copy of Jaime made her ache for cubs of her own. It was a desire she always feared would arise later in life, long after she was done winning the wars and political games that came with being a ruler. She supposed that it was a desire better uncovered now, though, because she was still in a position to do something about it. It was a thought to ponder as she endured her stay in the Capital.

Now that the day was over, and she lay in bed alone, she felt a heat building inside her as her mind turned to Jaime again. He sparred well for what he had survived and that got her blood pumping hot. And he was handsome enough to get her wet with just a heated glance after their fight. The promise of sex and passion in his eyes had been almost too much to bear, but she had managed to keep the want off her face. Jaime was the one fantasy she had never let go of in her years at the Rock. As soon as her body had become old enough to lust, her thoughts turned to the man and unfolded her imagination into several persistent dreams. Her hand slipped beneath the sheets of its own accord as she leaned her head back into her pillows and pondered what his body was like under that armor. She knew he'd be muscled still, a proper maiden's fantasy, and probably well endowed. Surely, Cersei wouldn't have kept taking him to her bed if he hadn't been.

Arya's thoughts grew more heated as her hand caressed between her legs. She hoped he was thinking of her in his own chambers at this very moment. Maybe he was all stretched out, lazily tending to his cock with his remaining hand while he thought about all the things his eyes said he wanted to do to her after their spar. It was a lovely enough thought to push her to climax.

 

* * *

 

The next morning found her avoiding the great hall, as Arya had no interest in mingling with Cersei or Joffrey again. At this point, she had best start checking her food for poison, because her new sister would be looking to punish her for her new name.

So instead of seeking out food, she paced through the godswood, listening to the trees and the soft footsteps following her. Tommen had caught sight of her just before she left the castle and had scampered along after her ever since. Amused, she didn't let on that she could hear his hurried attempt to keep up. She slowed suddenly and he accidentally crashed into her legs as he was still running at his full speed.

"Oof," Tommen puffed as he fell down, but he didn't cry out. The soft moss on the ground had cushioned his fall. She turned and looked down at him fondly as his big green eyes blinked back. With a smile, Arya swept Tommen up into her arms and held him close; he fit as nicely in her arms as she had expected.

"Hello, little one," she greeted softly. Tommen nuzzled his soft hair against her collarbone in response and Arya took the chance to return the gesture. "What are you doing out here? Shouldn't you be with your mother?"

"No," Tommen murmured unhappily and a terrible frown took the place of his tranquil attitude. Such a sad face on the little cub left Arya with more than just a pang of heartache for him. How lonely must he be? Joffrey was a monster as much to his family as he was to everyone else, and reports indicated that Cersei spent her days finding the bottom of a barrel of wine and attempting to control everything but the weather. Tommen most likely ended up ignored by everyone but Jaime. It was the life of a bastard son and Tommen didn't even get the benefit of getting his father's acknowledgement from it.

"Shh," she soothed apologetically. "You can stay with me." He nodded silently and pressed his cheek to her skin as they walked through the godswood together. Every now and then she would stop and let his little hands shoot out to touch a flower. He cooed with delight at the soft petals and would pick a blossom to rub it against Arya's face. She not only allowed it, but lowered her face encouragingly. This seemed to make Tommen very happy, as he got a wide grin every time.

"Where is your Uncle Jaime?" she asked after they had circled the wood a few times. By now, Tommen was back to his content mood.

"Guarding Joffy," the tiny boy whispered sadly. "I miss him."

"I'm sure he'll be done soon, and we can all go back down by the sea again. Would you like that?" Arya asked, almost overwhelmed with tenderness that she had never felt before in her life. This boy was special, that much was clear. She could feel a new rising emotion as she watched his face transform into a bright smile at the suggestion.

"Papa will come too?" Tommen asked joyfully before his mouth dropped open and he looked terrified. "Uncle. Uncle."

Arya blinked down at the little boy in her arms, but hastily responded, "Yes, your father will come as well."

So, he already knows, she thought to herself. It made sense; Tommen talked well for a child of his age, so he was obviously smarter than most would give him credit for being. And Jaime hadn't really taken any precautions that she could see to keep the boy from figuring things out on his own, aside from panicking at the subtlest of suggestions. With the rumors circulating King's Landing like flies on a corpse, it was only a matter of time before the cub could point to the proper lion who fathered him. Nothing about Tommen indicated that he was a stag, and the boy had to know that in his heart.

"Don't tell," he pleaded in a voice soft as the wind. "Please."

"Not even Jaime?" she asked carefully. It broke her heart to have to ask, knowing that his father's acceptance and love would probably be the most meaningful thing Tommen could ever receive. Jaime would give it, could give it, but the repercussions if anyone found out were definitely grave. Robert was dead, so he wasn't around to kill the children of his wife and her brother's affair, but Stannis was still in rebellion. People were desperate all over the Seven Kingdoms to depose Joffrey as quickly as possible, including amongst those who called themselves his allies. The confirmation that all three of Robert's children were, in fact, bastards by incest, would be all the other Lords would need to rise up in support of Stannis. Most believed that no one, _no one_ , could be worse than Joffrey, though Arya knew enough about Stannis to know he could be just as bad.

"People talk, and I listen," Tommen stumbled over his words trying to convey a deeper meaning than a young child could hope to do. "Uncle is my papa, but it's a secret. Uncle can't know. He'll be mad."

"No," Arya corrected gently. "No I don't think he would be. I believe he'd just tell you to keep it a secret. Who else have to said this to?"

"No one," he whispered. "Was going to ask mother." His mouth twisted angrily as he said the word; far too bitterly for a two year old child. "But she will be more angry than papa." Cersei, you wicked cunt, Arya cursed in her head. She was blessed with a good man to love her as well as a perfect child, and she chose to throw it all away for a fool's grab at power. Of course, that fool's grab required her to shower Joffrey with affection and praise to allow her the chance to control the Kingdoms through 'guidance'. Tommen likely had never received a kind word from his own mother in his life. Arya held him closer.

"She's still your mother, little one," she pointed out, though it felt horrid to do so. Like she was going to choke on the words as they spilled from her lips. A woman like Cersei deserved no praise as strong as the word 'mother'. Even Arya's own mother, who she had long parted ways with emotionally, had been better than Cersei. Just as much a fool perhaps, but twice as loving.

"Can you be my mother? I like you. You're nice, like p-Uncle." Tommen asked hopefully; his bright green eyes tearing up as he looked up at her. Arya was, again, stunned into silence. It left her feeling like what was left of her heart had been thrown into a pot of Wildfire. The pain in her chest tore at her with claws like knives and Arya could feel the parts of her that made her a lioness rearing up in possessiveness. The surge of protectiveness that followed was no surprise, but it still dwarfed all other emotions inside her. But, Gods, if she didn't know a bad idea when she saw one.

"I-You can call me that if you like. But don't let anyone hear you," she spoke softer than before and kissed his forehead. This cub needed her, and she wasn't one to fight fate. She knew the feeling of the strings tugging at her inside, because it was the same feeling she had when Tywin had offered to bring her to the Rock; it was what she was meant to do. With a deep breath, Arya composed herself. She could do this; Arya wanted to protect him, and Arya _always_ got what she wanted. Right now, Tommen needed her to be strong for him. The same way Tywin had been strong for _her_ , though she was no daughter of his by blood.

"Would you like to see something amazing?" she asked the little cub conspiratorially, who nodded enthusiastically through his still welling tears of joy.

She dropped down into a crouch and sat him down on her knees. Her hands extended out in front of her and she willed the power into her fingers. The old blood of the Children and the First Men, a Stark birthright, that she had learned to control over the years. It hadn't been easy, because she was alone with no one to teach her how to make it all work. No one in the West had bloodlines this old, so she was likely the only one with this power in the South. She might have been one of the only ones in the North as well. It was hard to say. Jaqen had helped her understand. His magic was different; the magic of the Faceless Men was tied to their God, but it was similar in its execution. Only death could pay for life, and blood had power. That was standard for magic of all types.

From beneath her fingers, a blue rose grew out of the soft soil. It came from seedling to blossom in seconds, and Tommen gasped with awe. His little hand reached out to touch it and make sure it was real; he cooed with delight when it was.

"What in the Seven _Hells_?" Jaime asked from behind her, and though she didn't jump, he had managed to sneak up on her.

"Magic," Arya explained matter-of-fact. "The Red Comet, do you remember seeing it all those years ago?"

"I do," Jaime admitted wearily as he lowered himself down to stare at the flower. His expression told her that he was unnerved by the show of her power. At least he didn't pretend it hadn't happened like his father had the first time he saw her perform a feat.

"It meant that magic was being reborn. The Targaryen's dragons hatched in the far East. Red priests and priestesses began performing miracles all over the world, and, according to some reports, the Others returned as well. During the war, I met a Faceless Man and he helped me understand what it was that was happening to me. The Starks have the blood of the First Men in our veins, so magic should be natural for us. Albeit, my siblings probably didn't even get any; given their Tully coloring. If they did, it certainly didn't keep them alive," she finished with a shrug.

"Your sister...," Jaime started before Arya interrupted. She knew what he was about to say: her sister was still alive. It didn't matter. Sansa had betrayed her far too many times for Arya to give any thought to what happened to her sister.

"Can rot," she cut him off sharply. In fact, as far as she was concerned, Sansa may as well have been dead for years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised June 26th.  
> A new scene at the beginning and changed some phrasing throughout. Some scenes in the next few chapters may not make sense because of the added scene.


	4. Happiness is Relative

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs for this Chapter:   
> During Arya's Monologue: Famous Monsters by Saliva  
> Last Scene: Counting Stars by OneRepublic

Jaime wasn't sure what had occurred between his son and Arya during the short period of time that he was stuck guarding the King as he broke his fast, but it had a marked effect on Tommen. His boy was all but glowing the rest of the day as they went together to the seaside to train again. Whatever had happened, Jaime was silently thankful for it. He rarely got to see Tommen this happy for so long. Cersei generally came along and ruined any good moods before Jaime got to memorize his son's smiling face. A few pleasant memories were in order at this point.

Thinking of Cersei, he frowned. Her mood from the night before had been blacker than spilled ink and twice as mercurial. She had screamed at volumes that threatened to shake the castle about Arya's adoption after the feast. Why she considered this to be a such a catastrophic event and worthy of taking out on him, Jaime wasn't sure. It was perplexing for sure, given their father's nature, but hardly worth losing her mind over. So their father had decided to make a new favorite instead of reconciling with one of them, but it wasn't as if Jaime had talked him into it. Perhaps she still harbored some lingering rage at him for failing to kill her after her wolf mauled Joff's arm. If she had any idea of how close he had come to losing his life due to that folly... Well he hoped that she would have cared back then. These days, she would likely throw him to an actual pack of wolves before claiming to give a passing thought about whether he lost his life doing her dirty work.

Tommen had endured her rage as well for making the childish mistake of speaking well of Arya in the calm before the storm. Cersei didn't slap him, she never did, but the cold fury she sent his way was worse than any violence she could have doled out. Tommen had whimpered through his tears, a great sin to Cersei as well, and rushed off to bed to avoid the rest of the conflict. Jaime hadn't even gotten the chance to kiss his son good night. Afterwards, the woman he had once loved with every fiber of his being spent several minutes going on at length about how weak she found Tommen. She called him a 'meek housecat' rather than a proper lion, and Jaime's stump had ached with the desire to hit a wall with all his force; as he would have done if he still had a hand.

Cersei had ranted well into the night about what she would say to father to get him to undo this adoption. Her lingering faith in the Gods was all that was staying her hand from having Arya killed in the night; as idiotic as it was for her to have faith at all. If the Gods existed, Cersei surely couldn't hold any favor with them for all her sins. Jaime would hold even less, he was sure, but he only prayed for Tommen anyway.

He had been relieved beyond reason when she had finally dismissed him and allowed him to retreat to bed, but the image Tommen crying was burned into his thoughts and kept him awake all night. So he could count many worse things than finding his happy son perched on Arya Stark's knee and cooing about a magic flower.

Arya's personality had changed again overnight. The cold of her eyes had receded slightly and a pleasant smile found its home on her face. She looked young and beautiful as she cradled Tommen to her chest as they walked, refusing to let Jaime hold him. He had tried to snatch the boy away from her but was met was a sly smirk and a swift dodge. With his desperation for a little fun, it became a game quickly, and he walked faster to cut her off and steal his little cub back. His new sister responded by running ahead, making Tommen giggle with delight, and turning to taunt him with another grin. Not to be outdone, he ran to catch up to her, like he was seventeen himself again.

"You'll have to be faster than that," she called mockingly and ran all the way down to the ocean. Jaime just laughed and sped up.

 

* * *

 

"Is your 'magic' always so ostentatious?" he asked playfully as they returned to the castle from their sparring session in the early evening. Every brazier they passed, the fire surged and grew with an audible rush of air.

"No," Arya replied smoothly, if not with a slight mischievous tone of her own. "Sometimes it's quite subtle. I just happen to be in a good mood."        

Jaime was as well, although he felt half starved. They had been down by the sea since mid morning. Tommen must have been hungry as well, but he had fallen asleep in Arya's arms before they had even gotten into the gardens. His head was pillowed on her shoulder and his golden hair spilled over to mix with her exceedingly long dark locks. Jaime looked lovingly down at his son and felt an honest smile tugging at his lips. He looked very comfortable in her arms.

She caught his stare and smiled again. "You've done a remarkably good job with him, Jaime. You must be proud."

"Every day," Jaime whispered before he could catch himself, though the emotion lacing his tone caused the words to become stuck halfway in his throat. He swallowed loudly and coughed a bit to hide his embarrassment. He rushed for something else to say and out spilled, "Would you like to join me for dinner, my Lady? Tommen will need to eat before bed. I fear we've missed the meal in the great hall." There, that was an effective cover.

"Aren't your chambers in the White Sword Tower?" Arya asked with slight curiosity.

"Officially," Jaime said with a roguish grin and continued, "I've always found them to be... lacking, so I commandeered a more suitable replacement when I returned to the Capital. Being Lord Commander has some benefits." It was true, the White Sword Tower had lost all appeal to him after so many years tied to a pole as a prisoner. He wanted a feather bed, and no one was going to deny him one. Besides, it helped to stem his longing for Cersei. The sparse chambers in the Tower left him lonely, and thinking of his stolen hours in her Royal bed.

"Then I will," she agreed with a nod as he steered them towards his rooms.

He was truly happy that she approved, because he wasn't quite done with spending time with her yet. Tommen adored the woman, and she was starting to grow on Jaime too. Today found her charming and inviting as opposed to the reserved and mocking person she had been the day before. It seemed as though he had passed whatever test she had been giving him.

The first servant they passed, Jaime took aside and told him to fetch a meal befitting a noble Lady and the Prince. The man nodded vigorously and scampered off the moment Jaime's hand released his shoulder. His legacy still struck fear into the hearts of many a man, it seemed. A wonder, considering how often Joff and Cersei mocked him in their cups. It was a little reassuring actually. Maybe he could continue sparring with Arya and improve, and then he could remind everyone why they all feared him in the first place. He almost missed the whispers of 'Kingslayer', if only because it kept them all on their toes. When he walked through the court lately, all he hear was 'cripple'.

Before they could get back to his chambers, two Lannister guards came rushing towards them and stopped just in front of Arya. She looked curious but annoyed at their sudden arrival and shifted Tommen in her grasp to better address the men.

"My Lady, Lord Tywin requests your presence in his solar," the bigger man announced, paying Jaime absolutely no mind whatsoever. Even the _soldiers_ disregarded his presence and authority as a Lannister of the Rock now. It was a humiliation he could not let stand.

"Then he'll wait," Jaime cut in before Arya could respond. "I've asked the pleasure of my Lady sister's company for dinner, and she's agreed." He needed to reassert his dominance over these fools. Surely they knew who he was, and being Tywin's eldest son should still mean _something_ to the household guards. But apparently, from the lack of response, he was wrong. Instead, both men turned to give him what he could have sworn was a hateful glare from under their red helmets, and Jaime opened his mouth to berate them. If they thought they could dare to step on the lion's tail and leave with their throats intact, he'd prove otherwise.

Unfortunately for him, Arya spoke first, "As he's said. I'll be joining Ser Jaime for dinner. Father will wait, or we'll speak on the morrow. It's of no consequence to me, so tell him I'll be there when I'm done. Understood?" Her voice was all iron this time, and the men bowed before turning around and rushing away. No one had ever commanded such unfailing respect besides Tywin, and Jaime was astounded. He turned to look at Arya and found her staring back at him with her grey eyes sparkling in the firelight; they looked as much like Valyrian steel as her blades. He flinched, as he always did when meeting his father's gaze, and quickly resumed leading them to his chambers to cover for it. He felt ever so faintly emasculated, and that was threatening to ruin his excellent mood.

"You seem to have a handle on being a proper Lannister, my Lady," he managed with only slight sourness on his tongue. She didn't really deserve his contempt, but it was a bitter drink to swallow. Once upon a time, Jaime had been a paragon of their House with his brilliant sword skills and quick wit. A few years as a prisoner had not broken him, but it didn't seem to matter to everyone else. Most had lost their fear and respect for him.

"I've learned from the best," she explained almost patiently. "Our father has a low tolerance for failure." Jaime barked a dark laugh. It was very true, and he had failed his father too many times too count. All those lessons in his past that he paid no heed to then made more and more sense as the years went on.

"Somehow," he paused to open the door to his rooms, "I think your actual father would be rolling in his grave to hear you call Tywin Lannister your 'father'."

Arya made a face at that like it bothered her for him to say it and drawled, "Ned Stark is entombed at Winterfell, so I doubt his ghost can hear me all the way this far South. In any event, it doesn't matter. The Starks are dead and here I am; alive. I owe that to my own resourcefulness and _our_ father, brother." She sounded so convicted that Jaime felt sorry for the late Lord Eddard in his own right. But it was the word 'brother' that left him barely suppressing a shiver. It disturbed him that just the word could almost undo him completely. Before, he thought his relationship with Cersei was specifically because they were twins, but now he wondered if it was just a fixation on sisters. If he was going to break out in a cold sweat every time a girl he hadn't even been raised with called him 'brother', then maybe it was just the word and the illicitness that got him going.

"Ser Jaime, just Jaime, or Lord Commander, if it please you my Lady." By now the annoyance was slowly starting to bleed into his voice, and he felt his earlier happiness evaporate. It hadn't lasted near long enough for his tastes. He weighed asking about her father for a moment before deciding to throw caution to the wind and inquire, "Why do you hate your father so much? Ned Stark was a good man."

She actually looked surprised then and replied, "I don't hate him. Robb or Sansa maybe, but not _him_. I just think he made a supremely foolish decision that nearly got us all killed, and I find it hard to forgive that. It was mostly Sansa that led to his downfall anyway, since she ran off to tell Cersei as soon as Ned Stark packed us up to return North. But he was the one who told your sister that he knew about the children and, somehow, he expected that to turn out differently than the King dead and his own head rolling down the steps of the Sept of Baelor. But, no, I don't hate him. He might have been the only Stark I really mourned, to be frank."

Jaime sighed at her explanation. "So you even have father's disgust for foolishness. How can you have changed so much in so little time?" He really wanted to know, because the transformation had been so complete.

"I was your father's prisoner, in all but name, during the war," Arya started almost breathlessly like she was enraptured at the memory. "I would have died if not for him. The Mountain was picking a prisoner a day at Harrenhal and having a man called the 'Tickler' interrogate them. They would put a rat in a metal crucible, strap it to your stomach, and heat it from the bottom. The rat would panic and begin to try and burrow out of it, and, well, it only had one way out."

Jaime felt sick at the description, but nodded to encourage her to continue. "It was my friend's day to be interrogated, and nothing I could have done would have stopped it. But Tywin rode in, all in crimson armor, and I stood up and met his eyes. He got down off his horse and asked me why I was dressed as a boy. I told him that it was safer to travel like that, and he praised me for being smart." Arya looked more like she was describing a God had reaching down and blessing her than receiving a compliment, but Jaime knew his father well enough to understand the feeling.

"He took me on as his cupbearer and freed my friend, so I played along like I was some little lowborn girl from the Riverlands. He saw right through me the whole time, but let me imagine I had him fooled. I looked enough like Lyanna Stark back then to tip off any careful eye to who I really was, but only Tywin figured it out. I sat in on his war councils and served the commanders all while I watched the war unfold from his side," she detailed with an odd pride to her tone.

"Why would my father let a little Stark prisoner see his war plans?" Jaime asked with a tilt of his head.

"What did he really have to fear from a fourteen year old girl?" Arya replied with a grin before continuing her story, "I had a friend at Harrenhal, the Faceless Man I mentioned earlier, and he helped me do away with the Tickler and, later, Lorch, who caught me reading one of Tywin's letters. He deserved it." Her voice was a whisper now. "He murdered Yoren."

"Who?"

"Yoren," she repeated. "He was a man of the Night's Watch who was going to take me home after they cut Ned Stark's head off. He was a good man, and he stood up for me when your sister sent the Gold Cloaks after me and...," the brooding girl stopped oddly and then left off with whatever she meant to say as she continued, "They ran off and came back with a force of Lannister soldiers, Lorch among them, and that's when they killed Yoren and half of the others. The rest of us got carted off to Harrenhal, and that's when it all began."

With a smile, she broke from her reverie and finished the tale, "Well, after nearly a year of waiting for Robb to save me, we received word that not only did he refuse our offered trade, he had promised my hand to one of Frey's brood, and I gave up waiting. I planned an escape and Tywin saw through that scheme like clear water. He offered to bring me to the Rock, and I was smart enough not to refuse. Over the next few years, I worked my way up in respect through the House. By that point, pleasing father became an addiction because I wanted someone to recognize me as someone worth caring about. Robb thought of me as a 'little girl', and wasn't willing to risk angering his bannermen to save my life. I wanted to prove to everyone how fatal a mistake it was to underestimate me."

Jaime ruminated about her experiences for a moment before softly saying, "You must realize that father would have never let you leave. If he had you watching his war council, then it would have been throwing his position into the dirt to let you take that information to your brother."

"I know," she agreed wistfully. "He always held the cards, but I appreciated that he taught me the lesson of how the world worked. He could have thrown me in some dank cell and offered the trade to Robb, and my brother still would have refused. Getting to see it happen, watching Tywin draft the letter, and reading the reply, it all made me stronger in the end. Even if it broke me at first. By the end of my stay at Harrenhal, they were already calling me 'Tywin's daughter'."

He didn't know what to make of all of it, so he tried to steer the conversation back to light-hearted territory by saying, "My experiences weren't quite as hospitable I'm afraid. It was cold, wet, and I was tied to a pole. The best thing that came of all that was that I earned a deep appreciation for the luxury our name affords."

"Unfortunate that Cersei has been about as tender as Robb, it seems. You look terribly undersexed, brother," she said with a half-playful smirk. "I don't know why you forgo other women to take _that_ to bed, but it's not my place to comment." Jaime went to retort, but she added, "Nor is it mine to judge."

"I've heard enough japes, my Lady," he growled, quickly angry with her for her reckless mouth. "I'd appreciate if you kept them to yourself in the company of my--nephew."

Her eyes flashed for a moment before she shoved Tommen into his arms, only jostling the sleeping boy slightly, and pressing them into an embrace. "Hold your _son_ , Jaime," she had some emotion in her voice that Jaime couldn't place, but he was too busy trying to make certain that Tommen hadn't been awake to hear that. What in Seven Hells was she thinking? Someone, _anyone_ , could hear her.

"Be silent!" he hissed after finding Tommen still asleep. It was a small comfort as she wasn't done.

"He _knows_ , Jaime. You really think your son doesn't know his father? Don't be dense. Tommen needs you, as any child needs their father. He accidentally called you 'papa' just this morning. While he was lucky that I'm the only one he's told, who knows who he'll accidently spill that secret to next time? He deserves a proper explanation and your love. Don't you dare try to shirk this duty; this is far more important than any of your fucking vows," Arya said in a tone that reminded Jaime of their father. The same one that implored him to do the smart thing, the right thing, or make the proper choice for the family. Only, this time, Jaime actually wanted to make it.

Still he was both speechless and terrified. Tommen _knew_? How and when?

A knock at the door signaled the arriving food, so Arya stepped away to let them in and gestured towards the table. The servants brought in a meal resembling a feast. Several meats and fruit, wine and cheese, and some cakes for dessert. It allowed him a small relief that at least someone was listening to his commands.

"Out," Arya snapped when they had set the table, and they had the good sense to flee. No surprise; she had a fearsome aspect when she wanted something done quickly.

The smell seemed to rouse the sleepy boy in Jaime's arms as he nuzzled against his father's coat as he started to wake. "Mm," Tommen mumbled and flopped his head back against Jaime's shoulder. In any other situation, Jaime would have laughed at how similar they were; he also hated getting up when he's been sleeping peacefully.

"Food, Tommen," Jaime coaxed with a glare at Arya to keep her quiet. She just sat watching him expectantly, but she mercifully didn't speak.

"Okay," his little voice murmured and Jaime set him down in a chair and fixed him a plate of his favorites. The same favorites Jaime had as a child. Arya added in a few pieces of more nutritious food from over his shoulder and he sent her a withering glare. She matched it and added another piece of fruit.

"He doesn't like them," he insisted as he moved a pear of his son's plate.

"They're good for him," she replied in a stern tone and put it back. Jaime's glare intensified each time they exchanged moving it, but Arya didn't seem to care. "Better than two different pieces of cake."

"I'll eat it," Tommen agreed as he put a hand on Jaime's to stop him from moving the offending fruit off the plate again. "I want to be strong like you. Joffy doesn't like them, and he's bad at swords."

"As you will," Jaime sighed and set the plate, pear and all, down in front of Tommen who picked up the piece of fruit before all else and began nibbling on it. To his credit, he only made a small face as he ate the whole thing in a few bites.

"Tommen," Arya started softly and Jaime's breath caught in his throat. No, she couldn't; she _wouldn't_. It seemed that she would, because she gently commanded his son, "Tell Jaime what you told me this morning."

Tommen fixed his eyes worriedly on Arya and then turned them quickly to Jaime before bringing them back to stare at her pleadingly. "No," he whispers. Suddenly, Jaime wanted to know more than his lungs wanted for air. He needed to hear his son say it aloud, to make it real.

"I swear to you, little one," she pressed gently and reached her hand out to cup his tiny chin in her hand. "He won't be angry with you." Tommen just nuzzled at her hand with a frightened expression on his face.

Angry? Tommen thought he'd be angry with him? He felt like a fist had driven itself into his gut. He had never meant to make his son fear telling him anything. Fear was for Cersei and her dark moods or for Joffrey and his dangerous anger. Jaime was supposed to be the safe haven for Tommen and the one that he could always come to with a problem. And yet, it seemed he hadn't been so clear about that as he thought. "It's--," Jaime choked a bit. "It's alright, Tommen. You can tell me. I promise I won't be mad."

"You're my papa," Tommen whispered as quietly as a mouse. "I heard you and mama talking. Yelling."

"Oh Gods," Jaime said as all the air in his lungs rushed out of him and he fell to one knee beside Tommen. His mouth opened and closed a few times, uselessly, before he managed to ask, "How long have you known?"

"Long time," his boy, his son, tried to say a little louder, but his voice was still so frightened. He thought Jaime was going to reject him like Cersei had rejected him. Jaime felt weak, _sick_ , and sad, like he had managed to fail already at the one thing he promised himself he wouldn't. Tommen deserved so much better than this. Jaime's arms went out immediately and he pulled his son into his lap. Tommen wrapped his arms around Jaime's neck and pressed his face into his neck.

"Not mad?" his son asked carefully. The fact that he felt he had to was just another blow.

"Gods, never. Tommen, never. I'll _never_ leave you, you understand? I'll be here for as long as you need me. I--," he could barely continue as the room around him blurred. When was the last time he cried? When his mother died or before that? "I'm so sorry."

"Nooo," Tommen whined. "Not sorry. Why sorry?"

"Because I'm not a very good father," Jaime laughed sadly as he clutched this little, living, breathing thing that he made to his heart. "I never planned for this."

Tommen pulled back and put a hand on each of Jaime's now tearstained cheeks. "Hush," he commanded. "Perfect papa. Love you." His proper little lion, he thought proudly; fuck what Cersei said.

"I love you more than anything, Tommen," he assured softly and kissed Tommen's nose. The little boy squealed and pressed half a dozen kisses on Jaime's face in response. They embraced tighter and he felt like the pieces inside him were mending together. It put the rest of his suffering into perspective.

He wouldn't mess this up, not this time, he thought to himself. This was the most important job he'd ever been tasked with and failure was not an option. His eyes found Arya, who was eating a pear of her own, as she looked on at their display of affection with her eyes the warmest he'd ever seen them. She was smiling, and he noted it might be the most honest smile he's seen from her yet. Weakly, he returned it. He felt like he owed her for bringing this out in his son, and in him. It was a long time since someone had managed to get under his skin enough to touch his heart. Brienne had been the last.

"Come now," she ushered them back into a chair, but this time Tommen sat on his lap. "You're both starving so eat." And with the weight of the world suddenly off his shoulders, Jaime felt his smile grow. Around a table of food, with the warmth from the hearth spilling out into the room, he felt at home for the first time in years. Arya fit him and Tommen so well that he could almost delude himself into believing they were having a family meal, and even the lie made him feel a little better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised June 27th.   
> Lots of added content, and a little removed. Phrasing was tweaked to better fit the earlier updated chapters.


	5. Taming The Lion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All Arya + Tywin. 
> 
> Song for this Chapter: The Rains of Castamere

Arya had intended to visit Tywin's solar immediately after dinner, but she instead stuck around to follow Jaime to tuck Tommen into bed. While she wasn't sorry, her father wouldn't be pleased with her delay, and Arya expected to pay for it.

The little cub, who felt more like _their_ little one now, smiled as they both kissed his head and put him into bed. The precious thing was asleep before the door had even closed on them. Jaime was radiant with joy and pulled her into a tight hug the moment they were alone. Hearing the validation of his fatherhood from his son seemed to open the floodgates of Jaime Lannister's heart, and the once notorious Kingslayer thanked her profusely. Time had changed him for the better and it was never more clear than when she saw the tears on his cheeks as he and Tommen had their moment. He probably feared that she thought him weak, but Arya had never seen him look so strong.

To be honest with herself, she _liked_ this new Jaime. He was genuine, which was a rare quality among highborn. Not only that, he was a good father and loyal to a fault. For all of Cersei's failings, he had never abandoned his twin, and Arya longed for such commitment. Even more than she wanted him, she wanted to be a part of the family he seemed to be building, piece by piece, with Tommen. It was enough to convince her to take the hard road, and try to convince Tywin to let her set aside her arranged marriage for Jaime. While it would have been ideal to get to grow closer to him before doing so, Arya had little time to spare.

Her adoption was stipulated with a strict clause about her marriage. She must marry a Lannister before her eighteenth nameday or forfeit her position within the House. Also, her husband had to be picked from the branches of the main House, so a Lannister of Lannisport wouldn't do. That left her few choices for a groom, but Daven Lannister, her father's nephew by marriage and second cousin by blood, had been offered to her as a husband. He was a good man that Arya was both close to and fond of; an excellent military mind as well. However, she didn't love him and it would be a long time before she believed she could bring herself to do so. Daven was boisterous and jovial, whereas Jaime was cocky and cunning. He would suit her far better as husband and Daven would make a good political match for re-strengthening their control of the Riverlands.

This meant that she could have Tommen brought along with them so she could give the little cub a better life, and a proper family. They could spin it like they were fostering him with his 'uncle', while Arya worked on securing an adoption. Once Jaime acknowledged him as his son, the rest of Cersei's lies would unravel, and Arya could use this marriage to increase the chances of her succeeding at bringing Joffrey down in the future. Tommen and Jaime got to go free from her tyranny and web of lies, and Arya got herself a son and a good husband, while still undermining her enemies.

Of course, convincing Tywin Lannister to let his youngest daughter marry his oldest son, when incest had all but been the ruin of their legacy, was going to be no small feat. Blood ties or no, Tywin considered himself to be Arya's father, and Jaime was still his son, whether they were at odds or reconciled. A match between the two not only fit ill with her father's wishes, but would draw the ire of the Lords of the West, who wanted nothing to do with Jaime nor Cersei. Due to the rampant rumors, the knowledge of their sordid affair was all but public and the West abhorred them more than most. Thousands of Westerlanders died fighting their war for a King who turned out to be as mad as Aerys. Fathers and sons perished all so Joffrey could torture whores and murder babes. Worse than all that, they had tarnished the legacy of the great Tywin; an irredeemable sin to those most loyal to him.

None of it mattered, because Arya was confident that she could change his mind. If he could see through the murk of war to see the best things about Arya, then he would see her side now and relent. Tywin may not have been the kindest father or liberal with his love, but he _did_ love his children. Only Tyrion was an exception to that rule, and only because Joanna had died on the birthing bed. As time went on, though, even his hate for Tyrion lessened. Since his youngest son was in exile before he found out about his twins' affair, he had begun to speak more favorably of Tyrion, though it was still tinged with anger that he might have been incapable of banishing. Tywin had spent his entire life building a future for his family, and his wife had been taken from him, his twins had failed him, his youngest son was born deformed despite the price of blood Joanna paid for him. He had been forced to find a new hope in Arya, because he was still just a man. Yet, all was not lost, because Arya could return his son to him and give him grandchildren. She may not be a Lannister in blood, but could still further his line.

 

* * *

 

"Where have you been all evening?" her father demanded of her when she strode into his solar. He was still hard at work managing the West from a thousand miles away with several neat stacks of letters waiting for his perusal. It would keep him up through most of the night, and Arya pitied him for it. Even her infamous father needed sleep, as all men did. Arya knew what it was to be in that position; she had lived it while he was at war and she was left helping to tend to the Rock. Uncle Kevan and Aunt Genna had been there as well, but eventually most of the duties still fell on her head, as they had Tywin's. She had a sincere feeling that her father had convinced the two of them to delegate more and more to her as a test, one she knew she passed. Arya smirked slightly; it was exactly the sort of thing he would do.

After she was casually sitting in the chair across from him, she answered, "Supping with Jaime and Tommen."

"My fool son, you mean. I believe I commanded your presence hours ago." He spoke with no inflection, but Arya could still hear his distaste. Her father could rarely hide things from her eyes and ears. They had been calling her 'Tywin's daughter' for her similar disposition far longer than she had been a Lannister by law, and she had learned long ago what emotion corresponded to his barely changing tones and expressions.

"And I sent word that I would be late. You'll just have to forgive me quickly, because I have something I want so discuss," Arya explained in a relaxed voice, finally catching his full attention. Her father looked up from his letters with a frown. He wasn't an idiot, and her requests would likely not shock him in the slightest therefore it did her no good to pretend, so she spoke directly, "I would like Jaime to be absolved of his vows and to return with us to the Rock following this farce of a 'Royal' marriage. I would have Tommen come as well. The West would be a better home for him."

If Tywin Lannister was the type of man for humor, he might have laughed at her then, but they were a serious pair. Instead, his frown deepened and his shoulders twitched as he dug in for a fight. Arya squared her own and tilted her head, willing him to deny her this. It had been _far_ too long since they had last had a proper fight. They didn't argue much, but when they did it often scared lesser men out of the room. Arya loved knowing that he respected her enough to treat even her most lofty requests with seriousness, even if it meant that first she needed to battle him down from refusing.

"No," he denied firmly and resolutely. Most would have stopped then and excused themselves to clean the piss off their boots, but Arya met his eyes and set her face into a determined mask to match his own.

"I don't believe I stuttered, father," she replied blankly with a touch more defiance. Arya wouldn't press further into rudeness with him, because she loved him too fiercely, but a note of rebellion often got him listening more seriously than if he thought she would back down.

"Nor did I. No." Arya could see his jaw clench as he said it and knew it was because she had only made her face more unwavering. The golden green of his eyes seemed at war with her own sharp grey, but Arya knew her stare could be as formidable as her father's. Valyrian steel could cleave anything in two like parchment.

It was known throughout the world by anyone who had ever met her father that his gaze was impossible to hold for long. His stare never broke or softened, and lesser men looked away as though burned. She had even see his family flinch from it at times. Once, she had asked him why he had chosen to take her in as cupbearer instead of throwing her in a cell, and he said, " _Because you looked me full in the eye and didn't turn_."

Their staring match went on for a long while before he inevitably resigned himself to the fact that she wasn't going to give up, so he asked, "Why do you want him absolved of the vows he has proven many times over to value more than his duty to his family?" Tywin did not shift his eyes away from hers, but he was clearly growing angrier by the minute as he continued, "He's incapable of handling even the simplest commands or responsibilities. I trusted him to secure Riverrun and he managed to end up captured. I trusted him to represent our House in the Capital, when he should have been accepting his place at the Rock, and he nearly brought ruin to it. Jaime is a fool and I did not adopt you, name you my heir, and arrange you a suitable marriage for you to throw it away like he did."

Immediately, she felt guilt at asking this of him. Tywin had done so much for her, to keep her alive and give her a future, and she truly was asking him to put most of it at risk. She was making a dangerous wager that the bannermen wouldn't stop supporting her claim once she married Jaime, but that could be false. They wouldn't back Lancel, who was had also been fucking Cersei, but they might back Daven or even Martyn, when he came of age. The family liked her well, and wouldn't betray her easily, but how good was she to Tywin if she couldn't even fulfill the role he had put her in? In essence, he had picked her to be the wife to his bloodline heir and rule in her husband's name, which is what the bannermen believed they were accepting. Jaime was disgraced in the West, so they might forgo accepting her as their Lady if it meant remaking a Lord of him. It gave her pause, but she still couldn't back down, especially not now that she had brought it to him. Arya refused to lose to even her father.

The opposite side of that, was that their bannermen accepted blood above all else, and Jaime would give her a grandson to Tywin directly. If Cersei came looking to inherit the Rock in her own right, only a son by Jaime would be of better claim. Arya believed this was a more likely scenario, and was willing to risk it all on the hopes that she was right.

"I know what I'm asking of you, father," she said in a voice of steel. "But I've made my choice, and this is what I want." He would hear her roar tonight if it came to that. "Jaime is a far more important match for me than Daven could ever be."

"Please, do explain, daughter," Tywin demanded and his words were filled with cold anger and doubt.

She stood and walked around his desk, while never breaking their warring stare. Her hand rested on his shoulder as she elaborated, "Allow me to regale you with a tale of the future that could be, father. When you die and I am named your successor, a woman of 'traitor' blood, immediately Joffrey will take issue with it. Cersei will claim it is her right to be your heir; now that Tyrion is in exile and Jaime is forbidden to carry on the line. Uncle may be firmly in support of my right, but people will go to war for a daughter of your blood, not for a girl you adopted into your House. When you are gone, I cannot be assured that those who support me will not bend under the maddened threats from the Capital. So long as Joffrey has hold of the throne, I cannot be guaranteed of my control in the West. Not without a true Lannister heir of my own."

Tywin sat silently, but she could tell he was listening intently. "Where else will I find myself a proper heir? Daven is the son of your father's younger brother's son. Your nephew by marriage, yes, but not a son of a ruler. He is talented at war, but Jaime was one of the best. He is still _your_ son, and any children we should have will be _your_ grandchildren by both blood and reputation. If you fear that I will let him control me or the West, rest easy, father," Arya persuaded. She may make a husband of Jaime, but he would never make a proper wife of her. "I am a lioness of Casterly Rock as much or more than I ever was a wolf of Winterfell. I do not bow for even my husband. Remember, father, it's the lioness that hunts the prey. If I must, I will bend him to my will, as I have bent everyone else."

There is nothing her father despised more than losing or being made to look weak, Arya knew, but then there was also nothing more that made him more proud than knowing he raised a strong child. One that refused to bow to him as much as he had refused to bow to his own father. A child who could live up to his mark on history and leave her own. When the men at Harrenhal began to call her 'Tywin's daughter', it was initially an insult to her cold nature. Later, they spoke it with such reverence and respect that only her father commanded before. He had raised her up from a gutter rat with a family of soon to be dead 'traitors' and made a ruler out of her. She had commanded men in battle, effectively ruled the West while Tywin was away, and garnered the esteem of every man to cross her path. Arya had given Tywin had every right to be proud.

He rose then, finally breaking their stare, and looked to the raging fire in the hearth. "As you will," he conceded, with badly hidden pride in his voice. "But I will not see my legacy, the legacy of our House, burn for him or his sister. But clearly I need not worry about your ability to convince him of what I could never manage. Daven will be displeased; he was quite fond of you."

"I and of him," Arya admitted. Daven was the real loser in this scenario, but her cousin had a knack for finding the good side of everything, so she trusted he would rebound quickly. "But I must think of my future too, and this secures my power better than he ever could." For her own sake, she failed to mention that her first order would be to make Tommen a Lannister rather than a Waters, as a bastard of King's Landing would be. She could deal with his anger regarding that _after_ she had it finalized. With some luck, perhaps she could convince Tywin to accept that as well.

"And should our gambit succeed? You'd make a King of my son?" Tywin asked, sounding unimpressed.

"I never claimed to want to be a Queen, father," Arya dismissed with a note of anger, though it wasn't aimed at him. "I just want their heads." Discussing their plans for the Capital often left her teeming with a fury that had no proper outlet. It also left her hungering for a swordfight.

"Who will rule when you've cut the heads from all those with a 'claim'? I raised you to be smarter than that, girl. I did not serve under three idiot Kings to lose my grip on the Iron Throne in my last hours. Whether a Lannister sits upon it, or rules from the position of Hand, I will see to it that our House is known for its long-reaching power so long as it stands."

"Don't fret, father," Arya soothed as she walked to the hearth and ran a hand through the flames. They licked at her skin, but it didn't stay still long enough for them to singe it. "I value our legacy even more fervently than you do. I sold what was left of myself to get a piece of it, if you recall."

"'As I have bent everyone else'," Tywin repeated, gave a huff of his almost-humor, and looked her fondly. "Soon enough, girl, it will be your legacy carrying our House to glory."

Power had never been _her_ vice until she met Tywin. Arya Stark was a girl who wanted to swing a sword, while Arya Lannister got one taste of cutting down an enemy and suddenly wanted to cut down the rest. Once you start slashing the competition to pieces, and begin climbing the ladder of power, you never truly stop. One taste is one taste too much to ever stop craving the climb, it was something all the members of House Reyne had learned the hard way. Arya knew that much every time she heard 'The Rains of Castamere' and looked at her father. At just two years older than her age, he had crushed two Houses to dust so completely that they wrote a song known throughout the Kingdoms about it. Her brother had been murdered to the same tune and every feast heard a rendition. But her claws were just as long as her father's and sharp with youth, and Arya looked forward to the day she could use them to shred her enemies to pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised June 27th.   
> Added some length, changed phrasing extensively, and made their exchange a little more typical of their relationship in this story. I.E. Better reflecting her respect for Tywin.


	6. Two Parts of One Whole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Porn for the sake of plot, but the plot waits until next chapter. Segmenting it so if explicit bothers you, you can skip this chapter. 
> 
> Song of this Chapter: Like Nobody Else by My Darkest Days

Jaime dreamed that night, after returning to his chambers alone. Not of wildfire, his usual nightmare, or of Tommen, his favorite dreams of late, and not even of Cersei, who still haunted him in his sleep. No, he dreamed of Arya Stark. Naked and wanton, in his bed, and crying his name to the heavens.

"Gods," he groaned as he woke from the dream. He was still achingly hard; a small mercy as it saved him from needing clean sheets. Sleeping in the nude had both its perks and drawbacks.

He raised himself up on his elbows and glared at the tented sheets. He didn't need _this_. He was too old for her and belonged to Cersei, whether she wanted him or not. This was the first he'd ever dreamed of _anyone_ but her in this way.

"It's because of yesterday," he muttered aloud as he slid a hand down to his cock to satisfy its need before rising. Or he would have, if the object of his sudden desires hadn't come striding into his room without so much as a knock. "Pardon me?!" Jaime cried as he pulled the sheets up to his chin and brought his legs up to disguise his arousal.

"Oh please," she laughed. "I'm seventeen, I've seen a man's cock."

"Seen many, have you?" he hissed but didn't move from his uncomfortable position.

"Yes," she replied and moved closer. "It comes with being in an army camp. If what you're asking is how many I've had... well that's no business of yours unless you're planning on trying to have me yourself." She sounded deliciously seductive and Jaime felt his cock give a _very_ interested twitch. He pinched his arm to make absolute certain that his dream was over; it was. Which meant that he had no outs for this situation as she sat herself down on the bed beside him.

"What are you doing in my room, my Lady?" he demanded.

"Waking you so we can spar, just the two of us," Arya explained with a devious grin. Gods, she could tell couldn't she? "Tommen is in lessons this morning, I've been told. I have something I need to speak with you about. It's rather important."

"How did you find that out? And what is it that we need to discuss?" he asked, frowning, and shifting away from her. No such luck, she took it for him giving her more room to seat herself fully on the bed. Arya leaned down, her hair brushed his cheek, and he could smell whatever oil she had anointed herself with.

"It's spiceflower and cinnamon," she commented in a softer tone and Jaime turned the color of blood. Did he say think it aloud or was he just smelling her that obviously? "And I heard it from some servants. I'll tell you what it is in a little while. I've been hungering for a spar all morning. Do you usually sleep so--."

He shifted again and his one handed grip on the sheets failed him, they slid down to his waist and pooled in his lap, where they tented again. Together their eyes went first to his groin, where he was painfully hard, then to each other's eyes. Her eyes went wide and dark as she stared him down for a long moment. His lips felt so dry that he couldn't even imagine trying to speak, but he felt like he needed to say _something_.

Jaime felt her hand touch his chest, distantly as his mind felt like a fog had taken up residence there, and the next time he had a coherent thought, he was flat on his back against the bed. She swung a leg over his hips and lowered her mouth to his in a heated kiss. The resulting thrust of his hips against hers couldn't have been stopped if Jaime had been tied down.

His tongue found hers, wet and inviting, and her hand gripped what remained of his hair desperately. When he felt her press down against his crotch, his blood surged like a wild horse in his veins and he had to roll them over to pin her beneath him. His right arm, missing it's hand, braced him against the headboard as he ground his frustratingly hard cock down against her leather breeches. Why was she still dressed?

Apparently, Arya agreed as she tore off her tunic and unlaced the breeches with one hand. They were tangled in the sheets already, separating what skin she uncovered from his own, but he couldn't care yet as he put his mouth to her neck and licked the perfume from her skin. Such a sweet subtle smell, compared to the disturbingly artificial flowery scents that Cersei enjoyed.

Her breasts were free after a moment of fumbling and his tongue tasted each one liberally. Both nipples perked up to meet his hot tongue and she moaned loudly as he flicked it over each hardened bud. His teeth enclosed one and he sucked it into his mouth roughly. Arya's nails dug into his neck and pressed him closer to encourage him further. He was gone then, in a sea of want and need; nails on his skin was his greatest weakness that Cersei _never_ indulged. The feel of the red lines rising on the skin of his neck made his cock throb below him.

"Breeches," he growled and tugged the sheet away from them. Arya shed them in seconds and wrapped her long legs around his hips. They kissed and he lost himself in her mouth as his good hand slid down to her cunt to find her wet and wanting. "Gods," he gasped, forehead resting on hers. His cock had never felt so fucking needy in his whole life. His little lover wasn't much better off as his fingers were soaked with her wetness and she was already canting her hips against him wantonly.

"Get inside me," she told him, no, _commanded_ him. How could he refuse?

Jaime tried to slide himself inside her smoothly, or what he would have thought to be smoothly if he hadn't hit a wall of sorts. His prick wouldn't slide any further into her body after just an inch or two. For a moment, he was dumbfounded as he wondered why there was resistance. Putting himself inside Cersei had been as easy as breathing. Suddenly it occurred to him all at once. " _You're a maiden_?" he hissed incredulously.

"Is that a problem?" Arya growled, digging in her nails again, and fixed him with a desperate lusty glare.

His cock certainly didn't think so, but his head felt wrong taking this from her. If she had kept maidenhood intact for this long, after the life she's had, then who was he to steal it away? He was not her husband, and if he were to accidentally leave his seed inside her a bastard between them would be disastrous.

"I--," he started and his brow furrowed in an effort to pick the right words.

She pulled herself up to look him in the eye and he had to hold back a moan as her wet cunt slid against his aching cock. "I want this," she explained. "I want this, Jaime." Each of her words was punctuated with a soft roll of her hips that kept them sliding against one another. The tension in Jaime's muscles grew with every pass of her womanhood against him. By now his cock was as slick as she was and dripping with his own fluids.

"Not brother now?" his annoying nature forced him to ask, though the humor was tempered with restraint in his voice as he tried to keep himself from impaling her. Apparently she found it amusing anyway, because she smiled.

"If you want to be, brother," Arya purred and ran her hand over her breasts. "I just want you inside me. Don't leave me like this. Not now, please."

Once again, he was undone. The way she purred 'brother' was the way he used to purr 'sister' at Cersei. His twin had hated hearing it during sex, because it reminded her of their sin and Cersei had _always_ been less attached. She had almost left him for Rhaegar, after all. For Jaime, it had always been Cersei. Now, he just wanted someone to want him back. Truly and as much as he wanted them.

With a nod, and a final impassioned kiss, he finished sliding inside her and felt the breaking of her maidenhood, but didn't look to see if she was bleeding. Jaime was far too entranced by her tightness, the warmth of her around him, and how wet she was. He could scarcely recall if Cersei had been this tight when they were young. He couldn't even remember if she had been a maiden the first time. But Arya was a perfect example of maidenhood and loveliness; the sort of woman you'd beg the Gods for on your wedding night.

It seemed as though Arya approved as well, given her throaty moan and her hands grasping at him in need. "More," she gasped as he paused to appreciate the feeling of being one. But he didn't dare refuse the request, and began to thrust in earnest. Arya's legs were wrapped tightly around his waist, leaving bruises on his hips, and he was on his knees between them. Her dark hair was splayed all over his pillows, coating them with her scent, and he was using both his good hand and his right arm to support her lower body.

Jaime groaned and lowered himself, looking for a kiss that she readily raised herself up on her elbows to give. Their tongues were slick as their sexes as he used every ounce of power in his body to satisfy her. He wasn't the sort of man to leave his woman unfulfilled. The bed slammed against the wall with a frightening amount of noise, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Let the whole of King's Landing hear them now. Let the world know he was still man enough to make a woman want him.

Sudden as a pouncing cat, his lover lunged up and settled herself in his lap, forcing him to sit on the bed and wrap his arms around her torso. Her arms went around his neck and her mouth to his ear to whisper in it softly. "More, Jaime," Arya breathed, igniting the flames inside him all over again. "Make me yours."

The urge to spill inside her _right_ then was only tempered by his eagerness to make her finish first. She was raising and lowering herself on his cock now; trying to increase the sensation. He sped up his thrusts to meet her pace and brought his good hand awkwardly to her cunt and rubbed encouragingly. Arya tossed her head back with a gasp of delight, her long dark locks flying everywhere and driving him wild with lust.

"Come on, sister," he coaxed desperately. "Come for me."

And, Gods, did she ever. Her already painfully tight cunt clamped down on his cock so hard that he bit straight through his lip in an effort not to spill. Arya caught sight of the blood on his lips in her euphoria and latched onto his split lip to suck on it. Enflamed, he kissed her with the force of a man denied sex for years. Love making and proper sword fighting were his two vices, and he'd had neither for so long. Now she had given him _both_ in so short a time.

Overwhelmed by his need to claim and mate, his thrusting had reached a fever pitch as she worked through her own climax, but, by the time that she was going limp, he was still hard. The need inside him built quickly to a critical amount and he lifted her off him just before losing control and filling her with his seed. Instead it painted his belly white.

Jaime fell back against the bed, feeling boneless, satisfied beyond all compare, and hungry from exertion. She followed him down and laid her head on his chest as she took her place in the crook of his arm. Even now he marveled at how perfectly they fit. It made all the years of playing cloak and dagger with Cersei fade from his mind like a lifting fog. But an ounce of fear crept into his heart at the thought that, this was it, he had finally separated from Cersei entirely. He found solace in another woman's arms, and would likely never feel hers ever again. He knew the guilt would be crushing.

"Mm," Arya purred and licked the skin of his neck. She sounded as utterly content as he felt. More liquid than man.

"Agreed," he laughed and turned to kiss her. The guilt could wait.


	7. Telling Truths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the porn. If you skipped last chapter, all you need to know was that they made love. 
> 
> Song for this Chapter: Oats in the Water by Ben Howard

They made love at least three times more before she managed to tear herself away from his embrace. Jaime was a possessive creature, and Arya enjoyed it against all odds. At least she knew he'd make a compatible husband now.

"Come back to bed," her lover groaned from his place amongst the tangled sheets. He was covered in a light sheen of sweat and there was still drying seed on his abdomen. Arya allowed herself to admire his beauty as she poured herself a glass of wine and downed it. Jaime was the picture of satisfied lust and contentment. If he had any doubts about taking her to his bed, after Cersei, then he hid them from her well.

"Perhaps we should do _something_ useful today?" she asked playfully from safely across the room. To be true, she would have just as happily slid back into bed with him and continued claiming her mate until the sun rose on the morrow. However, she knew that they needed to have a serious discussion about their future, and that would not be easy amongst the sheets.

"Absolutely not," Jaime purred as he held his arms out longingly towards her and repeated, "Come back to bed."

"We were supposed to spar," Arya pointed out and turned to look at him fully. She had never felt so incredibly beautiful, and she wanted him to see every inch of her now. Let him see all his marks on her skin and all the places he tasted.

"Is that not what we've been doing? I think I've given you a number of sword wounds this morning already," he looked over her naked body with unrestrained lust. "I'll give you a few more if you come back to me."

"When I heard a lion could mate forty times in a day I thought it was undeserved praise, but perhaps I was wrong. You have more stamina than I expected of you. Not that I'm complaining," Arya said as she turned to the mirror to survey the marks he'd left. Her neck was a mess of love bites and bruises. And her hips sported a single hand print on the side opposite his remaining hand. Just looking at them made her shiver with delight. The way he fucked, she could almost feel the potency of him, and his virility. They would have no trouble giving Tommen siblings.

He climbed out of bed and walked up behind her with his arms wrapping around her waist. "I fear I've defiled you, sister," Jaime whispered as he bit her earlobe and rubbed the palm of his hand on her belly. "The fact that I managed to _not_ spill inside you amazes me to no end. You'll never know the willpower it took to keep your belly bastard free."

"Maybe you shouldn't have held back," she moaned slightly as he slid down to bite at her shoulder. "We'd make quite the swordsman, don't you think? Surely Tommen could use a brother or two." Arya didn't want a litter of ten children, but she couldn't help but long for a day where a few of her cubs could spar and play at Casterly Rock. Her mother had often told her that, when she met the right man, she would lose all fears about giving him sons. She had rejected that notion from the moment she heard it, but it was beginning to look true.

Jaime brought her back to the present when his hips met the back of hers in a desperate thrust. "Don't talk like that," he pleaded. "Or at least come back to bed before you do."

"Why shouldn't I?" Arya breathed and turned around to face him. Their bodies fit so perfectly that she could hardly blame his intake of breath. Her hands cupped his roughly shaven face and brought it down for her to kiss. She licked at the wound he'd not only given himself, but reopened each time he fought not to come into her womb.

"As the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, I'm not in any position to be fathering any bastards on any more sisters," Jaime growled with lust dripping from his voice. His good hand was clutching at her hip tightly. Arya felt drunk at just the scent of him; all sex, sweat, and primal musk. It was making her feel more like a lioness in heat than one stalking her prey.

"You seem to disbelieve yourself, Jaime," she pointed out seductively. Her hips swayed slightly in his hands and she pressed her breasts fully against his bare chest. Convincing him would be easy. "Why don't you abandon the vows of celibacy once and for all, and rejoin us at the Rock? You belong in the West."

He pulled back from her and raised an eyebrow in suspicion. "Why, my Lady, does it sound like you've been planning this speech all day? What aren't you telling me?" Arya smiled at his caution and tilted her head just far enough to the side to bare her throat and all its love bites to his eyes. Jaime couldn't resist staring and let himself be pulled back into her arms.

"I want to give you a better path, Jaime," she whispered against his skin. "I want to give Tommen a better _life_. You won't find it here, and you know it. This city reeks of death and pain. Bring our son back with us to the Rock, where it smells of the sea and clean air. Let our cub know what it is to be lion amongst a pride instead of masking him as a stag amongst greater beasts. He's a babe in the woods, Jaime, and I want to bring him home."

Jaime fixed her with a wide-eyed stare that Arya met with no fear, and no hostility. She would lay her soul bare if that's what it took to get him to agree.

"Our son?" he asked slowly, carefully, tasting the words in his mouth. His eyes left hers and darkened as they fell to look at the cold stone beneath their feet. "He's... He belongs with his mother." He sounded sad and uncertain.

"No," Arya corrected possessively. "He belongs with us. Tell me you can't see it every time he smiles."

"You've just met him," Jaime said desperately. "You've known him, what, days? How could I justify taking him from Cersei for that? What if you decide that suddenly, he's too much a burden and he's no longer 'our' son? How do I know that you just don't want to make a husband of me so you can give the West to your own children?"

"I firmly intend to give the West to my children. _Tommen_ is my child. And I don't need you to do that, if I wish it. I am trying to pull you back into the pride when you've not even realized you left it long ago. You are not your father's heir, but, together, we could be," she pressed gentle but firm. "I can't abandon Tommen. He is mine as surely as he is yours. It doesn't matter that my womb didn't carry him; he was meant for us. I know fate better than you ever could, brother."

He shuddered again and Arya knew she had won. "How would this even work?" he asked in a skeptical tone. "Cersei isn't going to allow it. She never was good about sharing her toys, even with me." That made her smile sharply and Jaime raised an eyebrow at her expression. "What?" he asked again.

"I have," she trailed off to feign counting. "A hundred thousand men at my command, Jaime. I don't particularly care if Cersei wants to 'allow' it."

"You couldn't possibly be suggesting starting _another_ war over this?" Jaime hissed frantically. "No one would take up this cause. The moment they know--."

"They already know," Arya cut him off. "Trust me; everyone already knows Jaime. It's been acknowledged in the West for over a year. Your father knows, your uncle and aunts know, and all our bannermen know. It's why you were removed as the heir. Officially..." She stopped as she was filled with uncertainty about finishing for the first time.

"Officially...?" Jaime prompted.

"Officially you and your siblings were disowned when I was adopted. You're all Lannister by reputation, not by law," she finished. It felt like a hollow victory now, when she had been overjoyed to hear it when Tywin told her on her nameday. "As long as your father and uncle are alive, it will stand. As long as I am alive... It will stand. The bannermen were not happy to learn about how many of their sons died fighting for Joffrey's false claim. The only reason we don't raise in revolt is that it's easier to pull strings from a position of peace."

Jaime looked blindsided by this news, and Arya felt guilty for having to be the one to tell him. Weakening her mate brought her no joy anymore. Together, they would stand strong in unity.

"I see," Jaime laughed, though it sounded bitter. "I suppose that explains why no one seems to give a fuck what I command lately, and why father acts like he'd prefer my head on the walls than in his presence. But we reap what we sow, and I sowed quite a bit of discord."

"We will undo it, Jaime," she purred soothingly and pressed close to him again. "We will build a family as strong as father ever could. The West will flourish and we'll give it all to our sons and daughters. Help me build a brighter future, brother."

"Father will...," he stopped and swallowed. "He won't allow it."

"I've already informed him of our intentions."

That provoked a genuine, pleased laugh and Arya basked in the sound of it. Jaime was a man who rebounded from tragedy at an astonishing rate, and it never ceased to amaze. "Informed him of _our_ intentions?" he asked playfully, bitterness receding from his face and voice, and he pulled her tight against his body. "You knew I'd relent to your seduction, my Lady?"

"Of course," Arya murmured lovingly as she bit softly on the skin of his collarbone. "I told you already: 'I know fate better than you ever could'." Quickly, she pulled back and smirked. "However, I never intended to seduce you today. That came as a surprise. A welcome one, but a surprise nevertheless."

"When did you become such an incredible woman?" Jaime asked as he started to kiss along her throat and she sighed with pleasure. "I remember a dirty little girl who wanted to be kissed and liked threatening men twice her size. Finding you grown, healthy, and shaping the world to your desires was the real surprise. I made a vow...," he paused in thought for a moment. "I made a vow to your mother that I would return you to her, did you know that?"

"I heard rumors," she said softly as the conversation steered itself back to seriousness. "I'm sorry about your friend."

"She was a good woman," Jaime muttered with sadness in every ounce of his tone. "She didn't deserve to die like that. No one deserves to die like that."

"Why did he do it? Joffrey, I mean."

"It was Cersei," he shook his head as he said it. "Jealous. Used her time as a member of Renly's Kingsguard, and, Loras's repeated accusations that she killed Renly, to convince Joffrey to condemn her to death. I tried... I tried to save her. I begged Cersei, but she wouldn't hear it. Maybe it even drove her anger further. I've barely spoken to her since, though she still likes to request my audience so she can yell in my direction about all her woes. Power seems to have driven her to madness."

"She was always mad, Jaime," Arya pointed out, though it didn't make her happy to say it. "It was always there."

"That's what scares me most," Jaime whispered as he clutched Arya against him. "How could I have loved someone like that? My brother is in exile, my father hates me, and my sister is worse than the King I killed. Where did it all go wrong?" He stopped suddenly and looked at her with guarded eyes. She could feel him almost shaking as he raised his good hand to touch her cheek. "Do you know? Do you know about what I did? To your brother."

"Bran? Yes; I've always known. I figured it all out not long after Cersei executed my father." She hadn't call Ned Stark 'her father' aloud in years. It felt strange, wrong, and natural all at once. The same way calling Tywin 'father' felt all the time. Jaime just watched her with a guilty expression. "I don't blame you, Jaime. Robert would have had you both killed, and her children. Then we wouldn't have Tommen. Maybe I would have felt differently if Bran had died, but I know that nothing is fair when the lives of the ones you love are at stake."

Her lover was silent for a long time and Arya just laid her head down on his shoulder. They eventually sat down on the bed again, but made no moves to continue making love. Right now, just touching was enough to soothe the demons away from his thoughts.


	8. Freedom Well Earned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took a while to write, since it's very long. If anyone is wondering how I do this, I post, take about 30 minutes to an hour break, then start writing the next one. This chapter just turned into a monster as I knew where I wanted it to end, but it needed to cover a lot of ground. So errors are likely until I proofread.
> 
> Songs for this Chapter:  
> First half is: You Call Me a Bitch Like It's a Bad Thing by Halestorm  
> Last scene is: Panic Room by Theory of a Deadman

When Jaime woke up again, he knew right away not to move. Arya was still sleeping soundly on his chest, warm and lovely, and he wanted to watch her sleep for awhile. Her hair was spilling over his shoulder and onto the pillow next to his head, so he turned to smell the lingering spiceflower in it. It was masked by the scent of sex, but that only made it better. He couldn't remember ever being so utterly happy in his entire life.

From the time that he and Cersei had begun experimenting with each other's different parts and changing bodies, they had needed to hide. Every encounter had been rushed and fulfilled only the basic sexual urges. At Casterly Rock, in their youth, they had slept in the same bed for years until they were caught by a servant. After she married Robert, they never shared a bed again. He could stay in hers for a few hours, but always had to leave before long.

Even the guards at her doors were threats and they would have raised eyebrows if he had spent the night in her chambers. It was easier to explain away visits that lasted well into the night than it would be to explain leaving in the morning. Selmy would have loved to catch Jaime in such a position, and though he knew the man to be honorable enough to spare Cersei and the children, he would have like Jaime best in all black rather than all white.

Now, no one guarded the doors, and no one expected anything of him today, so they had all evening if they wished it. The relaxed pace was entirely new for him, and he loved it. It allowed him the chance to taste every inch of her that he wanted, and she had been more than accommodating. In a few hours, they had long eclipsed the ground he once shared with Cersei, who had a Lady's reservations about some acts. Jaime had never felt a mouth on his cock until Arya thought to give it to him. He had returned the favor until she was sobbing from pleasure. Jaime just felt like the Gods had opened their arms to him again and spilled forth the bounty of the Heavens into his bed. No creature such as her could be anything but divine in nature.

The door slammed open, shaking the room, and causing Jaime to sit up violently. His right arm reached for his sword, but met air as he remembered his lack of a hand. Refusing to flail, not in his own chambers, he looked up to meet the eyes of the intruder only to find Cersei in the doorway.

She looked pale with shock, as he noted she was staring directly at Arya, who had woken and raised up of her own accord. They stared at each other for so long that Jaime feared Cersei might faint, but he made no motions to catch her if she did.

"You," Cersei started in a voice that promised blood and pain. "You little _whore_. Fucking my father wasn't enough for you?" Jaime half expected Arya to laugh, but she just smiled so sharply that anyone else would have fled.

"Our father, sister, and I've not been fucking him," she said simply, though Jaime could hear the threat in her tone.

" _How dare you_? Your family is known for its treasonous blood. Your father, your brothers, and your sister. I will have your _head_ ," Cersei snarled. She probably thought it made her look like a lioness, but, so deep in her cups, it just made her look drunk and foolish. "You think your little Northern cunt will be enough to steal away all that is mine? I will--."

"Never. You will wed the King," Arya spoke, foreboding. Cersei looked like she was going to faint again, and Jaime had no idea why. "Aye. Queen you shall be, until--."

Whatever Arya was about to say was cut off by Cersei running from the room as though Robert's ghost was after her. Jaime looked from where Arya sat next to him to the door where Cersei had been standing. He had never felt so confused in his life.

"What was that?" he demanded as he stumbled out of bed and awkwardly pulled on his breeches. The lack of his hand made this a trying task that he had yet to master. Luckily, Arya noticed his struggle and reached over to tie them for him. He could get used to that, he noted with ill-timed amusement.

"Nothing," she replied, though her sing-song voice indicated that it was, indeed, _something_. She sounded infinitely pleased to have caused Cersei so much fear, and Jaime just wanted to know how she had done it.

"Mama?" Tommen's voice called from the hallway and Arya immediately perked up.

"Here, little cub," she called back and Jaime heard his son's little footsteps padding along the stone. When had he begun calling her his mother? Jaime felt like he was getting left in the dark more than usual. Tommen came around the corner, into the room, and he took one look at her, still naked, and saw the bruises. His boy cried out in horror and rushed to her, clutching her leg, and looking up at her sadly.

"You're hurt," Tommen whispered through his welling tears. "She hurt you."

"No," Arya cooed and lifted him into her arms. "That's from training, not from Cersei. Don't fret, my little one. Did she see you come in here?" Tommen shook his head and wiped his tears away. "Good. Now how about we go see your grandfather? It seems we have much to discuss with him."

"Grandfather scares me," their cub muttered. "Mean." Jaime laughed as he pulled his shirt over his head and slipped on his coat. Tommen wasn't wrong. Arya just gave him an exasperated, but tender look and shook her head.

"He can be, sweetling, but it's because he's busy looking out for all the other lions and families of the West. Sometimes, he even looks out for the families of the other Kingdoms as well. He tries very hard to keep the world at peace, and that benefits everyone. Right now, he's worried about the people of King's Landing, because your brother isn't a very good King. Do you understand?" Arya explained carefully to their boy, who just nodded silently and listened like it was the most important lesson he would ever receive. "We're going to go talk to him about going home to Casterly Rock; just you, me, and your father."

Tommen's mouth hung open in stunned joy when he heard her say that. "Yes!" he said with no small measure of excitement. "Please, papa, _please_?"

Jaime smiled and took his son into his arms. "You don't need to convince me, Tommen. I've already agreed to it. How would you like to see where your father grew up?" A shiver of elation ran down his spine at the ability to call himself 'father'.

"Yes, yes, yes," Tommen repeated in delight. He kissed his son on the head and waited for Arya to finish dressing, though he was sad to see her body covered up. It gave him an odd sort of courage to know he would see it again; tonight if he was lucky.

He worried about what Cersei would do now, though. She wouldn't be happy, but, surely, she wouldn't dare cross their father. Tywin Lannister was still the law where almost any guard was concerned. His gold filled their pockets and his army was the biggest in the realm. It wasn't as though Joffrey's court was overflowing with allies. The Reach would support him, but not in a war against his own grandfather. Even they weren't so bound to the crown that they would fight for the losing side.

As they left the room, Jaime could see several Lannister guards milling around down the hall, clearly observing from safety. Arya put a hand on his shoulder to keep him still, and walked over to speak with them. He couldn't hear what she said, but it must have been a command given the way they bowed deep and rushed off in the other direction.

 

* * *

 

A short walk later, and they were in front of Tywin's solar. Jaime shifted Tommen to his good arm to knock with his golden hand, but Arya laughed and strode past him into the room. He blinked at her back; this woman didn't believe in knocking apparently.

"And to what do I owe this interruption?" his father's voice came from inside. Jaime held Tommen tighter and walked inside.

"I think it's time that Jaime, Tommen, and I take our leave. Cersei will be marshalling some force against us, as we speak, and I'd prefer to be on my way before that happens," Arya spoke informally and sat herself in the chair opposite Tywin. His father didn't even seem to care, which half frightened Jaime at this point.

"The wedding is not for another week yet," his father pointed out as he scanned some letter. Arya shrugged for her own benefit.

"Would you prefer that I make a show of force in the Capital?"

"Why is it necessary?" Tywin asked sternly as he finally looked up at her. Their eyes met and Jaime felt like winter had come all at once. Even Tommen quaked in his arms at the sight of his grandfather's stare.

"Cersei thought to barge into Jaime's room not long ago, and took issue with my presence," Arya said simply. Jaime frowned and fought down the urge to jape about the fact that she had also 'barged' into his room that day. It didn't seem like the time to note that both his sisters had boundary issues.

"Your," father started deadpan. "Presence." Arya smirked and Jaime blushed, so he covered it with a smirk of his own. Tywin, to his credit, just sighed and sat back in his chair. His children's antics were beginning to age him where time had failed. "She spent the greater part of the morning in here, presuming to lecture me on how to conduct affairs in the West. I dispelled her mistaken notions for her, and she was displeased. I planned on having guards at your door tonight, but perhaps that will no longer be enough."

"I don't need guards at my door; ever," Arya interjected, but Tywin ignored it.

"Fine. I will allow you to return to the Rock, and I will organize having the King release Jaime from his vows. Tommen will be, officially, fostered with his 'uncle', and you will marry within a fortnight. I trust you will handle explaining the circumstances to Daven on your own." Jaime didn't think it could be so easy, though now he wanted to know what his cousin Daven had to do with this. "Take two horses, twenty men, and go now. Before Cersei can respond."

Arya smiled and leaned across the desk to press a kiss to his, or he supposed, _their_ , father's cheek. Tywin frowned, but Jaime could see an emotion in his eyes that hadn't been aimed at him since he was fifteen. A small burst of jealousy followed, but he quashed it. Arya had earned his love, and Jaime had just thrown it away. It was far too late to be bitter about it.

"Thank you, father," Arya said smoothly, and excess love didn't creep into her voice like it did with Jaime or Tommen. He could still tell it was there. "Tommen, thank your grandfather," she told him as she pulled their cub from his arms.

"Thank you, grandfather," Tommen murmured politely from behind Arya's sheltering arm. Tywin nodded, and Jaime could have sworn he saw his mouth quirk up.

 

* * *

 

They left after that and rushed for her chambers. Arya didn't think they should take much at all, as the ride to the Westerlands wasn't that far on the Gold Road. They could receive hospitality from one of the Lords on the border.

They found her rooms mercifully empty, and she started throwing her important effects into a rucksack. "Throw all of this in there, please," she said with an arm swept towards her desk. There were not many papers scattered on it, but Jaime started rounding them up anyway. "And the jewelry," she called from somewhere behind him. He could hear the soft clicking of metal and occasional louder clanks, so he could only assume she was putting on some type of armor. It was a good idea; Cersei often wore small pieces of it with her gowns when she felt threatened.

"Fuck," she laughed with a slightly strained tone, and he turned to glare at her for cursing in front of Tommen, who sat on her bed quietly watching. Instead, he found himself shocked into his own silence as he saw her slipping into a _full_ suit of armor. Her curses seemed to be from the annoyance of trying to get the thing on alone, which he could understand wholeheartedly.

"Why?" he asked simply and hoped she understood.

"You never know," Arya replied ominously as she slid her hands into gauntlets. The whole of it was beautiful work, and Jaime found himself growing half-hard from just seeing her in it. It was dark plate with gold and red accents. The pauldrons asymmetrical; a roaring lion and a snarling wolf to match her blades. The lion was always on her left, with her dominant hand, with her heart. She had tied her hair up in a long tail from the upper part of the back of her head, and it still fell long enough to brush her back. She looked ready for battle at a moment's notice, and Jaime was hard pressed to tell if she looked better like this or naked.

"It," he tried and failed. "It looks very good on you."

She turned to face him fully and he could see the sigil of their House on her gorget. "You like it?" she asked seductively. "Father gifted me with the full set; the Lannister name, the swords, and the armor on my seventeenth nameday." Jaime blinked at that. He would have thought she had been adopted much further back. He didn't get to comment on it though, as she tilted her head towards the door and said, "We need to go." He nodded and grabbed Tommen for them to go.

 

* * *

 

Of course, it would have been too easy, he noted as they walked out of room and saw Cersei surrounded by the goldcloaks. She took one look at the bag on his shoulder, Tommen in his arms, and Arya in armor, and cried, " _Kill her! Kill both of them!_ "

Jaime couldn't remember a single time in his life where he had actually feared his twin, but he did now. She had twenty men with her, maybe more, and they were in no position to fight. His heart felt like it was going to come out of his chest and he pulled Tommen against him. His eyes flicked from one side to another, finding no way to run, and then back to his furious sister's face.

"Cersei, _please_ ," he started to beg, but Arya shoved a hand out in front of him.

"Lions don't beg," she said softly to him, and took a step in front of both Jaime and Tommen. He felt weak and useless again. How could he protect his family like this? "Protect our son," she whispered again, only for his ears, and Jaime swallowed thickly. No, this couldn't happen. Not like _this_. He wasn't going to lose everything before he even got a chance to enjoy it.

The goldcloaks didn't care about his panicked thoughts though as they advanced on them, swords scrapping against their sheaths, and fire in their eyes. Murderers, he thought, monsters. Tommen sobbed in his arms and buried his face against Jaime's neck.

"You feel so confident?" Arya laughed, cocky still for some reason. "If you value your lives, you'll run now, children. I play for keeps."

The men laughed back cruelly and one swung at Arya. Jaime would have screamed, like a fucking maiden, if he hadn't heard the song of her steel as it blocked the blow. Tommen looked up in terror, but gasped as Arya attacked with a riposte and got her blade in the small space between the gorget and the helmet. Blood hit her face in a spray as she sliced right through his throat.

Another came at her, swinging wildly, in poor form Jaime noted distantly, and Arya's right hand yanked her second blade from its sheath. She parried his blow and used the lion-headed sword to make a devastating cut under his other arm. He screamed and fell as another came to challenge her. She formed a barrier between Jaime and Tommen and the attackers. He felt foolish for not being able to protect them himself, but grateful that, thank the Gods, she was _better_. It was still too many to fight, as they began to come in twos. They all crowded in to attack at once, and Arya managed to hold them off with her two swords and some unholy strength.

Tommen was watching, watching men die for the first time in his young life, and Jaime could smell the heavy stench of blood around them. He was still terrified.

"My Lady," several voices called at once, and Jaime felt his heart nearly give out. Fifty men, in Lannister red, rushed from each side of the hallway. They drew their swords and forced the goldcloaks back in a wave, with Arya pressing them forward.

"You dare attack _our_ Lady?" one shouted at the goldcloaks, at Cersei, and brandished his sword. "We'll paint this city in your blood." All of the Lannister soldiers cried out in agreement, and Arya pulled back from the fray with a smirk.

"I would think twice before challenging the West, sister," Arya laughed, high from the bloodlust, he knew. "We've got more men, more food, and more money. Now clear my path, or I'll mount your head on the city gate before I go."

Cersei seemed to know the battle was lost, because she turned on her heel and fled again. She didn't even spare a glance back at Tommen before she left. Only when she was out of sight, and the goldcloaks were smart enough to follow, did Jaime finally let himself breathe. Arya turned to him then, sheathed her swords, and tilted her head. She was waiting for him to let her know that he was still with her.

"Let's get the fuck out of here, please," Jaime rasped, and Arya smiled.

"You're right. Let's go home."

The men came along with them all the way to the stables and some of them mounted horses alongside them. In a full party, they rode out of the gates and onto the Gold Road.


	9. Where The Heart Is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daven is one of my favorite Lannisters, but we don't see him much in the books. I wanted to write about him, since he ends up the Warden of the West in the series. I feel like he's a good companion for Jaime.
> 
> Song for this Chapter: City of Ocala by A Day to Remember

They were laying in a bed in an inn at the far side of House Vance's lands in the Riverlands. The men were camped outside and guarded the perimeter, so Arya, Jaime, and Tommen could sleep in peace. They had decided to all share a bed, so their little cub was snuggled tightly between them. He was more on Jaime's chest than anything, and Arya was in the crook of his arm. Her lover was still awake, and Arya had been pretending to sleep long enough to recognize that it wasn't going to change.

"Sleep, love," she whispered in the darkness, careful not to wake the cub. "We've got a long ride tomorrow." He turned to look at her, and she could just make out his frown in the moonlight.

"I failed you," he whispered back, and it broke Arya's heart. "I failed you, and Tommen. If you couldn't fight, we would have died. If the soldiers hadn't showed up, we would have died. How can you marry a man who can't even fight by your side?"

"You will fight again, Jaime. I promise," she assured soothingly. "You couldn't have fought them anyway. I needed you to hold Tommen and protect him, and you did."

"I clutched him to my chest and prayed to Gods I barely believe in, you mean. I protected no one."

"Oh, Jaime," Arya sighed and slowly nudged Tommen more fully onto his father's chest so she could drape herself over him as well. "I believe in you more than you believe in yourself. Tommen knows you can fight, and so do I. You suffered a loss when they took your hand, but you had the bravery to pick up a sword again."

"Brienne convinced me of it," Jaime muttered bitterly. "If not for her, I would have starved myself. I wanted to die."

"Brother," she started and Jaime shook his head.

"No, please," he said, while turning his head away from her. "Don't call me that anymore."

Arya's patience finally failed her and she leaned in close to bite his shoulder roughly. Her lover yelped quietly and turned back to her fast as lightning with a glare on his face. "Stop that," she hissed. "Stop pitying yourself. I'm certainly not marrying you for your extreme power of self-flagellation. _I love you_ , you idiot. If you hadn't noticed by now, then I fear you're being slow." Jaime's face softened in the moonlight and she licked the place where she bit to soothe it.

"Cersei may be a cunt," she whispered with some humor in her tone, especially when Jaime huffed and looked down at Tommen. "But I am not. When your father adopted me, he made himself my father and gave me three new siblings. Besides, I like the way you react when I call you that. _And_ , the way you say it when you call me 'sister'. Don't ruin what we've got because you're angry with Cersei."

"She would have had me killed. My _twin_ ," he emphasized. "I trusted her more than I trusted anyone else. I loved her more than life. I've given up asking why it had to be this way, because it's become clear that all that changed was my eyes got opened. Now I wonder why I was so willing to ignore it before. I didn't overlook Aerys's madness..."

"Aerys wasn't your twin sister. I don't blame you, Jaime. Now all you need to do is stop blaming yourself. The next time we're in a fight, Tommen won't be there and I _will_ need you to fight with me. How will you ever be able to perform if you're so full of doubts?" Arya asked gently and laid her head down on his shoulder. Tommen made a soft mew in his sleep and nuzzled at his father's bare skin, prompting an honest smile out of Jaime.

"At least someone is comfortable," Jaime whispered to his son playfully, who kept on dreaming. "As much as I enjoy getting to bond with both of you at the same time, I'd have liked having you all to myself just as much." He sent her a pointed look and raised an eyebrow.

"In the morning, if you can keep it to just _once_ ," she promised with a laugh and returned to trying to sleep.

 

* * *

 

Come morning, they passed Tommen to a guard and had him sent down to eat. Jaime started unlacing his breeches the moment their little cub was out of the room, and Arya stalked over to help. They met in a desperate kiss and Arya felt the burn of excess bloodlust from the previous day's fight start to heat her blood. It wouldn't be just once.

By the time they were done, it was mid morning, but the guard in charge of watching Tommen had been smart enough to keep their cub busy. Arya climbed back into her armor, and Jaime walked down to break his fast with a spring in his step. He hadn't even bothered to fix his mussed hair or conceal the scratches she had accidently left on his chest and neck. Instead, he wore his coat and shirt open slightly to put them on full display. Cocky devil that he was.

 

* * *

 

The ride to Lannisport was both long and comforting. Each place they passed, Jaime would point it out to Tommen and give him a lesson about it. Nothing had left their little cub as breathless as his first mountain range though, and Jaime had delighted in explaining the name of every peak and valley. Tommen soaked it up like sunshine on a flower and often asked questions that his parents had to consult with each other to find the right answer for.

The city welcomed them properly though, with the smell of fresh baked bread and the ocean on the air, and Lannister lions flying high over the city. The men at the gate had gaped for a moment at Arya before opening it quickly. She could hardly blame them; she was meant to be in the Capital with Tywin for another month. Though she was certain that her father would be hot on their heels once he heard of Cersei's attack. They would need to prepare the West for any conflicts.

The people of the streets moved aside for their party as they rode through to the Rock. The City Watchmen stood at attention and Arya nodded in their direction while Jaime explained every storefront to their son. Tommen was all wide green eyes and eager hands as he reached out towards every new sight longingly. The city was one of the safest in the Kingdoms, and Arya could have easily just let the boy off the horse to explore. That would have to wait though, as she needed to speak to her uncle, and soon.

The gatemen of the Rock were more enthusiastic to see her, though they cast Jaime a suspicious glare. Her lover didn't see it, his eyes were trained upward on the huge castle before him; his home. So she just winked at the men and motioned for them to let her inside. Changing Jaime's reputation in the West would be long, hard, and slow, but she could start now by showing them that she claimed him as her own.

"Arya, child," uncle Kevan greeted the moment they were in the courtyard. He was surrounded by much of the household, who rushed out to see them arrive. "Tywin sent a raven ahead. You're not hurt are you?" He was a kinder man than his brother, and Arya was fond of him.

"No, uncle, we're all fine."

"Uncle Kevan," Jaime greeted boisterously. "The years treat you well." Uncle just smiled tightly, but said nothing in response. She would need to have a word with him about it. If Tywin had accepted it, though, then Kevan would in time.

"Is that _Jaime_ I hear?" another voice called over the crowd. The mass of people parted to reveal a man who looked far more lion than human. His beard grew unruly and his hair was just as long, creating a golden mane about his face. "Coz!" he roared and launched himself over to pull Jaime into a hug. Her lover gently nudged their son out of the way and submitted to the tight embrace with equal feeling. He probably was just pleased that someone was happy to see him.

"Cousin," Arya greeted as Daven broke away from Jaime long enough to pull her into his arms as well.

"Arya, looking as lovely as ever, I see," Daven said with a grin. "I see the trip to the Capital hasn't broken you of your penchant for armor outside battle."

"On the contrary, cousin, it's reminded me of the necessity. Cersei wasn't happy that I meant to steal my brother away for the Rock," she laughed and lifted Tommen up. Her little cub puffed up in the sight of Daven, who could be fearsome to children with his wild mane, and extended his own arms for a hug.

"And who is this? A lion cub?" Daven teased as he snatched Tommen out of her arms to hug him properly. Their son just smiled and grasped two fistfuls of Daven's hair to stay steady. "Oh you're Jaime's boy, I can tell. You've got his grin. Spitting image, if I do say so myself." Jaime smiled proudly and Tommen squealed with happiness at the comparison. He turned back to Jaime with a sly smile of his own and whispered conspiratorially, "Keep this one out of Lannisport. Else the girls will grab him up and keep him until he grows into a second you."

"He'll never want for a wife, for sure," Jaime laughed. Daven threw a hand around Jaime's shoulders and steered them inside the castle.

"Come on then, coz. You'll need to regale me with the tale of what the hell happened at Riverrun." Jaime shot her an inquisitive stare, so Arya smiled reassuringly and gestured for him to go on. Her lover nodded and followed his cousin, laughing every now and then at Daven's japes.

"Gods be good," Kevan muttered incredulously. " You smiling? In full view of everyone else? Tywin wasn't japing; you're in love with him."

"Follow me, uncle," Arya commanded good-naturedly. "Let's discuss the King's Landing situation."


	10. Wounds Long Healed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eydis guessed this right on time. I swear, this was actually part of the story BEFORE that comment.
> 
> Song for this Chapter: No Regrets by Dappy (N-Dubz)

Jaime felt warm and welcome. They had made it home, where he knew every crevasse and every step on every stair. This is where he belonged; where _they_ belonged. Here at the Rock, no one would ever dare to harm them or their son. They could start a whole new life, and Jaime could finally be done with the damn Iron Throne.

"And so they came out of nowhere, the whole lot of them, and caught us from behind. Out maneuvered father too from what I heard," Jaime explained with his eyebrows raised and a wide grin on his face.

"Those sons of whores. I thought you were truly dead, coz," Daven laughed loudly as Jaime told him the story of how he came to be imprisoned in the North. He had to agree, but that didn't mean he wanted to have his son hearing such language. Arya was bad enough with her curses. Jaime did his best to keep their son innocent as he could manage; he had many years yet to grow up. "Did Stark actually fuck his wolf though? I heard one of the Freys claiming it the last I saw uncle Emm. Said that his little Westerling bride was a cover for his true habits. Would explain why he didn't manage to get a son on her."

"Hush," Jaime chided and turned to Tommen. "Don't listen to your cousin Daven. He's got a loud mouth." His son nodded vigorously, but the gleam in his eye said he was lying. His little cub seemed to like his cousin, though Jaime couldn't blame him. Daven had that effect on most men.

"I prefer 'uncle Daven', thank you. This one is you and Cersei's boy, I'd expect?" Daven asked with a nod of his head towards Tommen, and Jaime sobered slightly. So everyone _did_ know. At least his cousin didn't seem to care much. Daven hadn't been the sort to judge, and they had grown up close, though his cousin was the same age as Tyrion.

"Officially," he muttered as he took a sip of his ale.

"No!" Tommen cried. "Arya is my mama."

Daven turned his head down to Tommen and raised a huge eyebrow. "Oh really now?" he asked and leaned down. "She's your mother?"

"Yes," Tommen said matter-of-fact. His little green eyes seemed to be daring Daven's hazel to challenge what he just said. Jaime smiled softly; their boy was growing bolder by the day.

Daven looked between Tommen and Jaime a few times, with a furrowed brow, before finally asking, "You and Arya...?" Jaime nodded. "Argh!" his cousin shouted suddenly and slammed his ale down, sending it splashing over the table. "Damn you, Jaime! Damn your hide. That was supposed to be _my_ woman. Come on now, coz, you could have had anyone. Then you chose the one I was promised."

"Oh," was all Jaime could say. Now he understood what his father had meant about talking to Daven, back in King's Landing. "Sorry?"

"A woman like that only comes along once in a generation, cousin! You lucky swine," Daven growled and drank the remainder of his ale. Tommen just looked between the two of them and Jaime shrugged at his son. "It's that face of yours. Aren't you supposed to be getting old now?"

"Not for some time yet, coz," Jaime said with a smile.

"I suppose you must have it out for cousins," he muttered. "After Lancel."

"After Lancel?" he repeated in a curious voice.

 

* * *

 

"Did you know?" Jaime asked in an almost angry tone as he walked into what was supposed to be Arya's solar. The guards had said this was where she would be, so he had to trust their judgment. This room had never really been used when Jaime was a boy.

The second his eyes fell on Arya, he was about to clarify what he meant but was shocked into silence by what he saw looking back at him. A moment after that and he was pressed with his back against the wall and fixed his eyes on his betrothed desperately.

"What in the Seven, fucking, Hells is that?" he whispered as loudly as he dared, lest it notice his presence.

"She," Arya corrected sweetly. "Is Visenya." Suddenly, Daven's parting words of 'watch out for Visenya' made a whole lot more sense. It was a lion, or rather lioness, sitting on the lounge. Fully grown and staring at Arya with its huge golden eyes.

"Do you...," his voice failed him. "Do you just have a penchant for dangerous pets? A direwolf wasn't enough? What if Tommen had stumbled in here? Are you insane?"

Arya gave him an exasperated look. "Please, she's perfectly tame. I've been able to control her since she was a cub herself. Tommen would be in no danger. Father lets her sit in his solar while he works sometimes. Doesn't he, Visenya?" The lioness didn't respond, but instead tilted its massive head towards Arya's outstretched hand. His love just reached out and scratched it behind its ears. "She and I are bonded," she explained eventually. "I had the same with Nymeria, once upon a time. But I've raised Visenya from cub to adult, and she knows what I will and won't accept. Her mate is less tame, but I can control him when necessary. And he wouldn't dare defy Visenya."

"Ah," he noted, but stayed against the wall. "I don't suppose you could ask her to leave, so we could talk?"

"You'll need to get used to her eventually," Arya laughed, but gestured towards the door. The huge animal stood and stalked right past Jaime into the hall. He didn't breathe until it was gone. He made a mental note to make sure that Tommen was kept on the opposite side of the castle from wherever this monster slept.

"What did I know now?" she asked when the door closed behind the lioness.

"About Lancel and Cersei," he said with a dark bitterness on his tongue. Not only had she left him, but she was bedding someone _else_. Arya actually looked shocked at that.

"Yes, I... You _didn't_?"

"No!" he exclaimed hotly. "No one thought to tell me about that little fact while I was in the Capital. And you didn't tell me you were engaged to Daven. Why are you still keeping things from me? I thought we'd be on the same page at this point."

"I wasn't keeping the engagement from you," Arya said softly. "I just never intended to marry him after I met you. He's a good man, but I knew what I wanted when I saw it. I trust Daven wasn't too upset when he found out?"

"He cursed at me for the better part of an hour about it, even while he was explaining how thoroughly Cersei had betrayed my trust, but he got over it. He seems to think you picked me for my looks," Jaime started to relax a bit in her presence. It was as though just being near her drained the pain from his veins.

"Does it really matter if she was fucking him?" she asked with some gentle prompting. "Does it matter now?"

"No," he sighed. "No I guess it doesn't. It's just... I thought I had grown strong enough to actually leave her, but she had left me long ago. I had truly just been deluding myself about my usefulness to her. I was a relic of her past."

"Her loss," Arya purred and wrapped her arms around his waist. "You're all mine now. And I don't intend to let you go any time soon." At that, all the tension fled Jaime's body like it had never been there to begin with. This woman worked magic on him far more intense than her winter rose display.

"What's it like?" Jaime asked as she kissed her way along his neck. "To know the future."

"What gave you the idea that I know the future?" she murmured against his skin.

"I just figured you did, since you always seem so confident in everything. You were confident enough that we'd be able to leave King's Landing, and that we could bring Tommen with us. I had been trying to plan such an escape for months, and you pulled it off so easily. How could you do that if your magic didn't allow you to see the future?" This had been nagging at his mind for days, and he had longed to ask her in privacy like this. Their time on the road had always been in the company of at least one other person.

"I can't see it clearly," she said slowly, likes she was considering her words carefully. "I dream sometimes, and those usually come true in some fashion or another. But I can't just 'see' the future. I can feel when things are falling into place. The same way I felt when we sparred that first day. Maybe I even felt it as far back as Darry."

"It would explain why you didn't have me killed," Jaime laughed into her hair.

"I told you then, I didn't want the King doing my killing for me. Ned Stark would have _leapt_ at the chance to put your head on the spike if he had any idea of what happened in that forest." Jaime felt terrible just thinking about it.

Cersei had argued with Robert for hours after Joff's arm was mauled. They argued deep into the night while hundreds were still out searching for Arya. The King had passed out on the floor of the room Lord Darry had given them, and Jaime had offered to carry the oaf to the bed. Cersei refused that and begged him to make love to her, which he did happily. Right before she came, she cried out for him to go kill Arya, and Jaime had known it to be a command. If she could ask him to kill one Stark child, he could be told to kill another.

He had trekked through those woods for hours and, by some stroke of ill-luck, been the one to find Arya. The monster he was then had taken quick note of her reddened cheeks and tried to seduce his way close enough to slit her throat. She was utterly receptive, and he almost couldn't do it. She was the first time he had ever been tempted to kiss another woman besides Cersei. But she was a twelve year old girl and he was a twenty nine year old knight in service to his Queen. He knew she needed to die, so he drew his dagger to do the deed. But, thank the Gods, she caught sight of the dagger's glint and punched him so hard that he feared a broken jaw. By the time that the world stopped spinning, she was gone and he was sure he was doomed.

But, for all his curses and racing heart, she hadn't told the King a thing. He cornered her alone afterwards and he could remember the way she snarled that she would make him pay for it one day on her own. 'Cut his heart out', she promised. And maybe she had succeeded, except she hadn't killed it. Just claimed it all for herself.


	11. Survival of the Strongest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one gets a bit dark at the end to explain a little more backstory. 
> 
> Songs for this Chapter:  
> First half: Young Volcanoes by Fall Out Boy  
> Last Scene: Cradle to the Grave by Five Finger Death Punch or The Monster by Eminem.

"He gave you _my chambers_?" Jaime asked from behind her, aghast. Arya laughed and nodded. Tywin had repurposed Jaime's old chambers for her, ones fit for the heir of Casterly Rock, even before she had been adopted. The room was entirely hers now, with jewels on the vanity and letters scattered about the once barren desk. The sheets had been replaced with darker bedding to suit her tastes, and the servants had brought out several pelts to keep them warm now that winter was setting.

The rooms were quite useful now, because they had adjoining rooms for any children Jaime would have had as the heir. This meant that they could give Tommen a room right beside theirs. And any siblings they might give him. Their little cub wasted no time in rushing off to pick the biggest room; the one meant for the firstborn son of the heir.

Jaime was still muttering in disbelief behind her as she set her effects down and began to soak in the feeling of home. Normally, she would call Visenya up here and bury her face her fur, but Jaime still seemed weary of her pet. It would take time before she could introduce Tommen to her without her lover's heart giving out.

She had a wedding to plan on the morrow, and that, oddly enough, excited her a little. It made her feel half a child again, and too much like Sansa, but Arya felt she deserved a little contentment at this point. They had earned it, she felt.

She spared Jaime a glance and found him surveying the bed with barely restrained interest. He looked up at her and she could see the promise of little sleep in his eyes.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Arya felt sore from the waist down. It was a good feeling, she decided, as she stretched like a cat in the early morning light. Jaime had immediately tucked Tommen into bed and rushed to get her all to himself. Something about being home seemed to enflame him more than usual, as their lovemaking on the road had been much more tempered. Or perhaps it was just having pure privacy again. Nevertheless, he made certain to remind her of why she was making a husband of him. It was the first time, though, that her thighs were sticky with seed.

" _Come inside me,_ " she had gasped desperately as he pressed them both to the point of climax. His hips were hitting against hers with bruising force as he tried to get as deeply inside her as he could manage. His expression made her fear that he was going to refuse her, but he just buried himself fully within her cunt one more time and flooded her womb. That was just the first of many times in the night. The desire to quicken left her dizzy with lust and eagerness to breed, so she had matched every thrust with a roll of her hips for the remainder of the night.

Arya couldn't tell if she _had_ quickened, and that saddened her. She had hoped fervently that her magic would be able to tell her definitively whether his seed had taken hold in her belly. There had been an expectation that something would happen, that just hadn't, and she wasn't sure if she hoped more that she had quickened or that she hadn't and her magic would tell her when she did.

She sighed and moved to get out of bed, but was quickly yanked back in as Jaime woke up enough to wrap his arms around her middle. "Don't you dare," he growled in half sleep and never opened his eyes. "It's too early."

Arya had learned very, very quickly on their journey to the Rock that Jaime only woke early when it was required of him. If there was no one to tell him to get out of bed, then he was content to remain there until noon.

"Come now, brother," she tried to persuade. "We'll eat and then go spar. I'll be busy all evening, and this may be our only chance to enjoy each other's company today."

"I can enjoy you so much more in bed."

She opened her mouth to say more, but a small knock at their door let her know that their cub was awake and looking for his parents.

"At least someone knows how to knock," Jaime groaned and tried to pull the covers over his head. Doing so released Arya, who took her opportunity to flee and did so with haste.

"One moment, little one," she called as she pulled on some clothes. Afterwards, she found him outside her door, but not standing on his own. Instead, he was dangling by his tunic from Visenya's mouth. Arya blinked down at him, and he blinked happily back up at her. "Enjoying yourselves?" Tommen nodded and Visenya let out a muffed noise of affirmative.

"Can I keep her?" Tommen asked innocently.

"Keep what?" Jaime's voice came from the pile of sheets on the bed. Arya grinned and let the two of them into the room. Visenya was familiar with her chambers, so she immediately walked to the bed and leapt onto it, with Tommen still hanging from her jaws. Jaime felt the weight on the bed and peeked out to find their son and her pet staring him in the eyes. His shout of fear and panic echoed off every wall, and Arya could have collapsed from laughter.

"What's wrong?" Tommen demanded of his father as Jaime kept extending his hands towards their cub to steal him from Visenya, and then getting nervous and pulling them back. "She's a nice lion."

"Please," Jaime choked out to Visenya, who regarded him with minor curiosity. "Please give me my son."

She didn't, but she did put Tommen down and began to groom him like a proper cub. Jaime looked pale enough to faint at the sight of her huge tongue mussing up their son's golden hair. Or maybe it was the knife-long teeth inches from his head. Arya wasn't worried; Visenya was almost an extension of her personality. At worst, she could enter her mind and command her to release Tommen.

Cats were harder to control than dogs, and lions harder than direwolves. But, lions were lazy creatures when they were fed, and Arya always made sure that Visenya ate well enough. It made their bonding process much easier. Though, now, the lioness could be starved and she would still heed Arya's will.

"She'll obey you better if you're _not_ afraid of her, Jaime," she pointed out as she finished dressing. It was true, as well. Visenya was smart enough to listen to other people than Arya, but the success of their requests varied. Only Tywin had ever succeeding in commanding her as well as Arya did, and he didn't even use magic.

Footsteps announced the arrival of another, and Daven's hair often arrived in a room long before he did himself. "Cousin, Arya, Vii, Tommen," he greeted to each of them in turn. Visenya turned to look at him when she heard her least favorite nickname, and snarled loud enough to shake the bed and cause Jaime to snatch Tommen into his arms. Daven laughed uproariously. "Relax, coz! Her roar is much worse than her bite. I've had this girl biting at my ankles since she was still taking milk for supper." To prove his point, he walked up and ruffled the fur on Visenya's neck, who quieted down to allow it. Arya swore her lioness was attracted to Daven's mane sometimes, given how much she let him get away with. Jaime still didn't look convinced, but Tommen looked more enraptured by the lioness than he had before.

Daven turned to look at her after that and put his great hands on his hips like a scorned woman. "Cousin, you were supposed to be _my_ bride, if you recall. Now who am I to marry? Jaime can fend for himself just fine. Throw him out into Lannisport and he'll come back with five more children at his heels." 

"You'll have to forgive me, Daven," she said with a smile. "I fear I've fallen for the spell of being his sister. I can't stay away. Besides, you know I like to keep my father and uncle on their toes. I'm sure Lord Frey would be happy to provide a daughter for you."

"Gods, you can't mean it," her cousin sagged like his tone. "I'd rather marry Jaime myself than take one of Walder Frey's girls to bride."

"My dear, sweet brother tried to wed me off to one of his grandsons, once," Arya growled with a false sweetness in her voice. The memory of finding out left her as furious as knowing that Robb refused to trade for her during the war.

"And I'll swear 'til the day the Gods drag me off to one of the Hells that's why you killed him."

"What?" Jaime barked from his place on the bed. "What did you just say?"

Arya shrugged. She knew she would have to explain the circumstances of her brother's defeat eventually, and now was as good a time as any. "The plot with Frey was my idea," she explained simply. "I paid him and Bolton off, and guaranteed them the support of the West. Robb crossed Frey by marrying that Westerling girl, and we needed to end the war. So I thought, why the hell not?"

"Your _mother_ died in that fight," Jaime hissed in horror. "How could you--."

"She wasn't supposed to die," Arya muttered under her breath, but Jaime apparently caught it. She spoke the next part louder, "Thousands were dying, Jaime. The war was going to end with someone dead, and it might as well have been him."

"He was your blood," he said with a clear confusion and desperation to understand. "Your brother. I could understand how you could forgive father for doing what he had to do during the war, but how could you carry it out on your own?"

"It wasn't like he valued _my_ life," she spat. "How long did you rot in the North while he was willing to let me rot in the South? He left me in the lion's den, and didn't expect for me to start roaring like one. He could have made an attempt to trade for me and Sansa at _any_ time, but, instead, he was content to keep you as a fucking pet." Jaime went quiet and she could see understanding bleed into his features alongside pity. It made her angrier for some reason, but not at him.

"Joffrey could have been flaying me, for all Robb cared. No, all I was good for was securing him crossing at the Twins. When he broke his 'vow' to Frey, did you know that he assured him that I would _not_ do the same? Edmure may have taken my brother's place, but I still would have gotten no choice in the matter. You'll notice that they didn't marry off Sansa instead. I was the second born daughter, the wild one, a pawn in their game," she ranted, letting all the bottled up fury inside her out at once. Daven looked astonished; he knew her to be a very reserved woman. Her new and passionate display of emotions that Jaime brought out in her would likely come as a shock to most that knew 'Arya Lannister'.

"I didn't intend for my mother to die there too," she sighed as the energy fled from her. "I thought she would stay at Riverrun, but, even if she didn't, I didn't think they would harm a woman. I was half right; it took her slitting one of Frey's grandchild's throat to get them to kill her and be done with it. Frey even sent me a 'condolences' letter and asked for my hand for one of his sons." She laughed humorlessly at the memory of how tactless the man could be.

"He did his job well though," she mused darkly. "They call it the 'Red Wedding' now. I had them disguise the assassins as musicians, and they played my brother off to the sounds of 'The Rains of Castamere'. No one even knows it was all my idea."

"Good," Jaime said with a swallow and a distracted kiss to Tommen's head, who was staring at Arya in a way that let her know that he had no idea what she was talking about. That was a good sign at least.

"Why is that good?" she asked as she slid into a chair.

"Because you're better than that. Let them remember you at your brightest moment, not your darkest." She smiled; that could apply as equally to both of them.


	12. From This Day Until Their Last

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My coffee maker broke today, so all chapters today are written with either red bull or no caffeine at all. Be prepared.
> 
> Song for this Chapter: Wildest Dreams by Taylor Swift (This is gonna be a strange fanmix.)

Jaime was in no mood for this today. They had been home at the Rock for a month and a half now, and the people around him had finally started acclimating to his presence, so they dodged out of his way as they paced the halls of the castle. Tommen was missing, and he knew just who was responsible for _that_.

He felt out of place walking about the castle in finery like what he was currently wearing; a richly embroidered doublet and red silk shirt. His hair was long again now, and brushing his eyes in a way he was amazed that he once missed. His golden hand shone every time it caught the light and he wore a long, crimson cloak to ward off the cold. It was the first time since they had been back that Jaime felt like a real Lannister again. It was far more bittersweet than he remembered.

" _Tommen_?," he called while he peeked his head around corners. His son was still missing. Growing annoyed, he rushed up to the Stone Garden. Every tree seemed to taunt him with the fact that his cub could be behind any one and Jaime still couldn't find him.

A muffled roar gave him hope, and he ran towards the source only to be disappointed. He was looking for Visenya, and had found her mate and sister instead. Aegon and Rhaenys were mating in a secluded part of the garden, and Jaime threw them a withering glare. They paid him no heed.

"I don't suppose you know where your sister or my son is?" he asked for good measure, but Rhaenys just turned and snarled at him. Jaime bared his teeth at her back, and turned on his heel. "At least you kept yourselves hidden. Doesn't that make Visenya jealous?" he said loudly as he walked away. He knew it didn't; Arya was always telling him how she wanted more lionesses for her pride. Apparently the whole thing only needed one male to the rest female. Lucky beast.

Visenya was the matriarch of the pride though, and the smartest lion among them. Arya's bond with the animal made her nearly as smart as any man, and twice as crafty when she wanted to stay hidden. Tommen had grown into loving their long games of 'hide from Jaime', and, normally, he was happy to indulge. Today was just _not_ the day. The lioness was pregnant, something Arya had been delighted to learn, and that made her rather fond of stealing Tommen away for hours to practice being a mother.

He finally found them in the furthest point of the garden on a cliff by the weirwood, where the sea crashed against the rocks hundreds of feet below. Visenya had her massive head resting on top of Tommen's back as he slept peacefully across her paws. He looked so comfortable that Jaime felt the annoyance bleed out of him. He still gave Visenya a chastising glare when she opened her golden eyes to see who had disturbed their nap. She gave a soft growl of greeting.

"Come on, you," Jaime whispered as he lifted Tommen away from his favorite playmate. "We're going to be late now." Tommen roused from his sleep long enough to press a sleepy kiss to Jaime's cheek and fall back against his shoulder. It had been a long day for the both of them already, and Jaime couldn't really blame his son for wanting to sleep through the rest. He'd have him carried down to his room after the ceremony.

Cub in hand, he motioned for Visenya to follow, and half ran to the sept. His father was waiting on the stairs with an impatient frown. Jaime was supposed to be here almost an hour ago.

 

* * *

 

"I was beginning to think you had fled," Tywin said with ill-temper. He just grinned mischievously like he had planned it all along, and passed Tommen to a servant to take him to his seat. He could see his son wake up and pop his little blond head over the servant's shoulder; he looked upset that Jaime had handed him off.

"On the contrary, father, I've been looking forward to this all month," Jaime said a little breathlessly as he straightened his clothes and hair. In sight of the sept again, he felt like a pauper.

"Go," his father urged with a glare. "You're meant to be _inside_ the sept."

Jaime glared at him before moving at an unhurried pace inside; he refused to leap to his father's commands today. Visenya stayed by his father's side, and he glared at her too; traitor. Tywin had been back for a fortnight and their relationship as father and son had only worsened. He had stopped letting himself care after awhile, because it just made him bitter when he saw how easy it was for Arya to interact with the man.

He had learned quickly here that there were two Aryas: his lover, and the one everyone else got to see. He liked to think that he got the Stark and they all got the Lannister, because she was all light with him and darkness with the rest. Jaime understood the necessity. It was also quickly apparent that she was the real ruler in this castle. His father had taken the chance to relax in his advancing age now that he had a proper heir to handle the bulk of the work. He handled the correspondences with the rest of the realm, and Arya ruled the West.

That meant that no one could see her at her weakest, and Jaime often found himself despising her long work hours. She would be up into the night balancing costs and staring at a map of the West to make sure their borders were well defended. Stannis was still in rebellion, and, though they were no longer fully backing the crown, they couldn't let the rest of the Kingdoms know that. It wouldn't do for them to lose hold of the Capital. Cersei may be mad, but she still needed money and that was enough to know that they had hold of the thickest string on the King puppet.

The sept was loud on the inside with all their bannermen and their wives crowded inside with countless Lannisters. This was a big affair for the West and one long overdue, given that Jaime had fled marrying in his youth. The septon seemed to be preening at the chance to officiate such a marriage.

There was one head in the bunch that didn't look like the others as Jaime saw him and felt a small wave of jealousy flood his heart. It was Arya's blacksmith friend, looking uncomfortable in finer clothes than he had likely ever worn, sitting in a pew near the front. More clothes than he usually wore, Jaime thought hatefully. The man often worked his steel half naked and covered in soot. That was how he looked when Arya thought to introduce Jaime to him, and he had been full of suspicion ever since. There was no indication that there was any feeling between the two of them, but Arya seemed oddly fond of the man. Fond enough to have him attend her wedding. The man looked up and met Jaime's eyes and shifted uncomfortably again. Jaime smiled sharper than a dagger and let some menacing go into his eyes. Arya never said he had to be _nice_.

The change in music signaled his bride's arrival, and Jaime's gaze snap to the door where she stood at Tywin's arm. His heart almost gave out when he saw her and his knees went weak. She was in a _gown_.

Jaime was certain that she didn't even _own_ a gown, let alone allow herself to be married in one, but she had proved him wrong. Her hair was no longer straight as it usually was, and, instead, fell down in dark curls. She had on a heavy pendant of rubies to match her low-necked crimson gown. He had seen her in red before, many times, but he had never really noted how astonishingly beautiful she looked in their colors. The gold embroidery shimmered in the light as she walked, and Jaime felt as adoring as the crowds looked. He wanted to fall on his knees there and worship his bride. She looked twice the god than any of the facsimiles adorning tapestries on the walls.

She wore no maiden's cloak at all, which both amused him and made him sad all at once. He was the one who should have no cloak to give; she was the Lannister now and he was just 'Ser Jaime'. Even worse, he wished she had worn a cloak in Stark colors. He and Ned Stark may have never gotten along, but it sat ill with his new found honor to have a good man's memory fade because his daughter wanted nothing to do with the House of her birth. Stark had been the most honorable man that Jaime had ever met, and he could appreciate it now that he was older. The man deserved better.

That was a thought for a different day though, as his father gave Arya away. The septon started the ceremony, but Jaime couldn't hear the words. His whole world dissolved into Arya's eyes as he looked at his bride. His love; his _real_ other half. She was smiling, just for him, without a care of who saw. He felt like the smile on his face threatened to break him in two.

"You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection," the septon repeated and Arya held out her hand to touch Jaime's arm. That's when he remembered that he had a part in all this too.

Jaime laughed and managed not to sound nervous as his love turned from him and allowed him to cloak her in the Lannister lion. It fit her gown perfectly, and he had to assume that she had planned that.

"My Lords and Ladies, we stand here in sight of Gods and men," the septon continued, and Jaime returned to ignoring him. Arya was smirking at him now, and their eyes were having a whole conversation of their own. What she would do to him during the bedding, and what he would do to _her_. They had been making love every night, several times in an evening, and they still weren't sure if she had quickened. He knew his bride wanted a child from him already. He could feel it when she dug her heels into his hips as he put his seed into her belly.

"With this kiss I pledge my love, and take you for my Lord and husband," Arya spoke clear and loud. Jaime's heart swelled so big that he feared his doublet would bulge on the left.

"With this kiss I pledge my love, and take you for my Lady and wife," he replied and swept her into a passionate kiss that belonged better in their bedchambers than their wedding ceremony. Daven let out a roar of laughter somewhere in the crowd below them, and Jaime could hear Tommen's little claps.

" _That'a boy, Jaime_ ," Daven called, slightly slurred with ale. Tywin turned and gave him a lingering stare, before turning back to the septon.

The septon smiled and continued, "Here in the sight of Gods and men, I do solemnly proclaim Ser Jaime of House--." Tywin must have glared at the man because he stopped short, coughed and corrected, "Ser Jaime and Arya of the House Lannister to be man and wife, one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever, and cursed be the one who comes between them."

The crowd burst into polite clapping, no one overly enthusiastic to have Jaime for a Lord again, but he paid them no mind. They could all go choke on the wedding feast for all he cared. He had the one thing he ever really wanted: a woman that was all his from now until his final breath. And she squeezed his hand encouragingly as they walked back up the aisle.


	13. Darker Yet Before Dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of chapters today, a rainstorm managed to knock the power out for several hours.
> 
> Also: I have no idea how I managed this, but I had spelled Valyrian wrong like, oh, 5 times prior to this chapter. I fixed those, and feel very silly. I swear, I knew how to spell it but still messed it up.
> 
> Song for this Chapter: Get Thru This by Art of Dying

Their chamber door slammed against the wall as Jaime kicked it open with Arya in his arms. She had to marvel at his strength given his lack of a sword hand. They were already fully entangled at the mouth and slightly drunk as the rowdy guests cheered behind them. The wedding had been a calm affair until late into the feast, and now the men were hungry for a bedding.

They had motioned to strip her of her gown and carry her up to their chambers, but Jaime had sent them one sharp smile and lifted her up himself. Her husband had been delightfully cocky all night after the ceremony, and Arya was loving every minute. Her feelings about his boasting and bragging had changed once she was the object of affection being bragged about.

"Get'er out of that dress," someone called, but Jaime just turned to the door and closed it behind them with a grin.

"For my eyes only," he shouted to the din of disappointed cries, and laughed drunkenly as he hurried to strip nude. And his eyes did indeed find her a moment later, as his clothing hit the floor piece by piece. Arya smiled seductively and unlaced her gown slowly. Her husband growled impatiently and reached out his good hand to try and speed the process up. Instead, Arya shoved him onto the bed and forced him to lay back as she straddled his waist.

"Watch," she purred and ran her hands over her body. Her cunt was already dripping with need, and she was eager to try again for a child. The same way they had tried last night, but, perhaps, the wedding night was lucky. Tommen had been asking for a little brother and calling Visenya 'sister' for the last week straight, and it was making Arya desperate to give him one. Then, she told herself, she could return to reuniting the Seven Kingdoms with her duty to the House already done.

Her hands pushed her long gown off her body, and she shuddered at the feel of the silk on her skin. She didn't like gowns, but she could appreciate how they made a woman feel. Jaime's darkened green eyes roving every inch of her skin made her feel the same: like the most beautiful woman alive. He never seemed to get tired of her; no matter how many times they made love. Arya loved him for it.

"Stop _teasing me_ ," Jaime groaned and ran his hand along her torso to tug at one of her nipples. She gasped and ground down against his standing cock. It didn't enter her, but they slid together just enough to make her shudder from the friction. Jaime lost his patience then and flipped them over; consumed by the desire to mate.

"Hard, husband," she murmured as he slid into her and made them one. "Until I can't even think straight."

"I'll give you everything," he whispered in her ear, as he licked the shell of it.

 

* * *

 

Arya was exhausted in the best possible way the next day. They had made love well into the morning and slept for the rest, until Tommen had come looking for them. Their cub wanted to watch them spar, and, though they were tired, neither of them had the heart to refuse him.

Daven had spotted them sneaking out of the castle and immediately swooped in to follow. He and Tommen had grown rather close, like a proper uncle for their boy, and Arya knew Jaime enjoyed his cousin's company. He kept her boys busy while she sat through long meetings with father and uncle Kevan about the state of affairs.

Stannis was hunkering down for the winter, but there were reports that the Iron Bank had chosen to back him for a King. Sellswords were seen in his company, and Arya knew enough to worry about a second 'rich' force in this war. Stannis was a desperate man, and he could be driven to dangerous measures if they prodded him too much. It kept her awake some nights; trying to figure out how to beat him if he wouldn't meet them in the field.

"Come on, Jaime, you can do better than that!" Daven cackled as Arya beat him again soundly. Jaime sent him a dark look and retook a fighting position for the next spar. He had gotten much better over the last month, but the change in hands was still holding him back. She knew it could take years for him to get as good as he was, but her husband was as impatient as she was the opposite.

"My Lady," a voice yelled from above them. Arya looked up in annoyance to see a courier rushing down the steps to the training yard. "A raven came, and we think you may want to see this."

"Who was it addressed to?" she asked with a sigh as she sheathed her sword. Jaime took the chance to lean against his and breathe after their intense fighting.

"No one, my Lady, but it's... Well you'll have to see."

He handed her the scroll and she unraveled it to find it momentarily unreadable. This wasn't the common tongue, she noticed with surprise, it was High Valyrian. Who in the hell still wrote in _High_ Valyrian? She could read it though, with some effort, and her brow furrowed with concentration.

"What is it?" Jaime asked curiously, and Daven carried Tommen over to peer over her shoulder.

"What in the Seven Hells?" he muttered under his breath; unable to read it.

"My Lord," Arya started aloud. "I am writing... To. Inform? Inform you..." It was well written, but it had been so long since she had to use this skill that time had dulled it. She couldn't read the next word, but the one after it told her all she needed to know. "Targaryen has sent..."

Arya's blood ran cold and she turned on her heel and ran towards the castle. She needed her father, and she needed him now. Jaime and Daven shouted in surprise after her, but she didn't slow her pace. If this letter said what she feared, then preparations needed to be made.

" _Fuck_ ," she cursed loudly as her sides burned from running. They had been so foolish to wait this long to deal with the Targaryen girl. Now it threatened their position more than anything else ever had. Arya reached her father's solar and threw the door open violently. " _Father_!"

Tywin had been reading at his desk, but he stood at the sound of her voice. His eyes went to the letter in her hand, and then to her pale face. "What news?" he asked gravely.

"The Targaryen cunt," she started, breathless and angry. "This," she waved the paper for effect. "Says she's sent her unsullied and one of her three dragons towards White Harbor out of Pentos."

"That's impossible," her father said calmly. "The we have contacts in Pentos, and the Pentoshi won't submit to a conqueror Queen."

"And the little Queen stole a march on them. She has her own powerful contacts there," a Lorathi accent came from the door. Arya's mouth went dry as she turned to see Jaqen H'ghar standing there, once again wearing Lannister armor, just as he had been back at Harrenhal.

"Who are you?" Tywin demanded. "How did you get in here?"

"Relax, father," she said softly and met her old friend's eyes. "Valar morghulis."

"Valar dohaeris," Jaqen answered. "A girl becomes a woman, and she still spends her days with Tywin Lannister."

"The Targaryen," Arya pressed. "Is this true? Did you send it?"

"No," Jaqen said sternly. "A girl knows better than that. My order cares not for the politics of Kings and Queens. Yes, the Dragon Queen sends one of her children, but we are not involved. Not unless we are paid our price."

"Then why are you here?" she demanded. "Why come at all?"

"To warn a girl to place her bets confidently," her old friend said cryptically. Jaime stumbled into the room as he spoke, panting and looking at Arya with half panicked eyes. From the wheezing in the hall, she figured Daven was out there as well.

"Who," Jaime paused to breathe. "Are you?"

Jaqen looked between Arya and Jaime and smiled. "A girl truly becomes a woman then. My congratulations."

"Just tell me what you mean," she growled in uncharacteristic impatience. "'Place my bets confidently'? What does that mean, and why would you even care? The Faceless Men have no reason to warn me at all if they won't be involved in the politics." Jaime lunged away from Jaqen after that, and her old friend smiled like he enjoyed it.

"We've been watching a girl grow, and a man was given the honor to deliver our message," Jaqen said as he stepped back into the darker part of the room. When he emerged, he was wearing a different face and used a different voice. "Heed our warning, Arya Stark."

"Lannister," she corrected harshly. Jaqen, or whoever he was, smiled and walked out. She collapsed into a chair. Pentos wasn't that far from White Harbor by boat. They would need to move fast, or the Targaryen would get a foothold in Westeros. The winter might slow them, but if they managed to take hold of the Neck, the North would be entirely cut off from their support. And the Northern Lords were ripe for the conquering with their lingering hatred for the Lannisters.

" _What is going on_?" Jaime snarled when no one explained.

"Daenerys Targaryen has sent a small army and one of her dragons to White Harbor, from Pentos," Arya whispered with her head in her hands. "The letter says the dragon may be as big as Balerion the Dread. We need... We need..."

" _Gods_ ," Daven spat from the hallway and Jaime went white.

Rushing footsteps let her know that some of the guards had come to see what the ruckus was about, so she needed to put on a brave face. She sat up in her chair and fixed her eyes on the first one she saw. The man froze and looked down at the ground quickly. Arya informed him in a voice of iron, "Find Maester Volarik and tell him I've commanded him to call the rest of the banners and the ones who left following the wedding. Have him send ravens to every hold in the West commanding them to marshal as many men as they can manage and send them to just outside Wayfarer's Rest."

The man didn't even spare Tywin a glance as he rushed off. Her father looked at her with a dark frown and said, "You can't mean to meet her in the field."

"No," Arya conceded. "I mean to arrive _before_ them." She stood and prided herself in the ability to keep her legs from shaking. "Jaime," she said softly to her husband. He looked at her with wide, frightened eyes, looking for reassurance that this couldn't be happening. "Pack our things. I'll be busy getting all this in order, and we'll be riding at first light."

 

* * *

 

Arya didn't see her husband again until it was late into the evening when she returned to her chambers. The day had been spent holding council with the bannermen who hadn't left the Rock yet. No one was happy to hear the news, and most thought Arya insane for driving their force into the North to face the Targaryen's dragon head on. She didn't care; if the Dragon Queen took hold of the North, they may never root her out, and she may come down South with an army of supporters behind at her back. It would be easier to deal with her forces now, while she remained across the Narrow Sea, and scare her off sending the other _two_ dragons at them.

Jaime had packed up all their clothes, and their armor was waiting for them for the morning. He still looked stunned and horrified though, and she could hardly blame him. His arms went around her tight as vices the moment she stepped through the door. She felt the day's strength leave her and she collapsed into his arms.

"I have no other choice," Arya choked as she fought down her fear. "We have no other choice." Jaime didn't say anything, but kissed the top of her head. They slid down the wall together and she crawled into his lap like a child.

"Who will watch Tommen?" he asked eventually.

"We'll bring him to Riverrun; to aunt Genna. She will take care of him well while we're away," she said into his shirt, muffling her words. They would be gone so long, and her little cub would be lonely.

"Can we win?" he sounded more like it was a statement rather than a question.

"Of course," she laughed humorlessly. "We'll just need to slay a dragon."


	14. Old Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa is somewhere off with Baelish, if you wonder from this chapter. 
> 
> Song for this Chapter: Fine Again by Seether

There used to be a point in his life when the sounds of a bustling encampment was exciting to him, but that was a time long past. Now Jaime found the noise to be distracting and upsetting. Tommen didn't seem to like it either, as he was clinging to the small scrap of Jaime's shirt sticking out of his golden armor. Visenya, Aegon, and Rhaenys walked at their heels as Jaime carried his cub towards his and Arya's tent.

They were outside Wayfarer's Rest, but only for the night. They would be moving on to Riverrun as soon as the sun came over the hills, and Jaime would have to be parted with his son for who knows how long. He wanted to soak in his presence before it was too late.

He found Arya hunched over a map with their father at her side. Neither looked happy, but that was to be expected given the situation at hand. She, at least, looked up and smiled at them as they entered the tent.

"My little lion pride," his love greeted. "Come to listen to us bicker over how to get to our destination as fast as possible?"

"More like I've come to make sure you don't skip meals," Jaime japed as he bounced Tommen in his arms to get a better hold on him. "I don't trust you not to forgo everything but planning for this upcoming battle." And he had good reason; they hadn't even made love the night before, because she was busy until nearly morning. When she had finally climbed into bed, she seemed to be shying away from his touches, and he took it to mean fatigue. His fears that his new bride was growing tired of him were assuaged by her passionate kiss in the morning, so he knew it wasn't that she took issue with him personally.

"Mama," Tommen cried out as he reached his arms out towards Arya. Another problem with this sudden rush to war was that she had been too busy for their cub too. And his love knew it, as her face was consumed by guilt and she snatched their cub away from him. Tommen nuzzled her hair and made a sad mewling noise; another of Visenya's behaviors rubbing off on him. Their cub seemed to think he was an _actual_ lion sometimes, and Jaime was perplexed by it.

His father sighed and left the tent at a brisk pace when he realized that Arya was now thoroughly distracted. "Ignore your grandfather, little one," she purred. "He's touchy today."

" _Today_?" Jaime muttered incredulously as he turned to look at the map. Visenya growled at him in response; the stupid beast liked his father better than Jaime too. Ignoring her, he ran his eyes over the expanse of terrain between them and their destination. They had a long way to go until they reached White Harbor, and it didn't look to be a fun journey. Reports said snow was falling in the northern half of the Riverlands.

"I had a strange dream last night," Arya started suddenly, and he was curious about her tone; it sounded pensive.

"About what?" he asked with a tilt of his head.

"I don't really know," she said oddly as Tommen pressed kisses to her cheeks. She paused to return them threefold. "There were three boys, or young men, and they were fighting a dragon. The oldest in appearance couldn't have been more than twenty. He looked determined, but worried. He looked... Just like you. I thought it _was_ you, for a moment, but he had both hands." Jaime glared at her smirking face, and she added, "Just as good looking though."

"Me!" Tommen announced boldly, and Arya laughed. It was happier than he had heard her since receiving that letter.

"Perhaps it was, my little cub," she cooed sweetly. "I'll bet you _will_ look just like Jaime when you're grown."

"Was that all?" he inquired, oddly curious about this dream.

"No," she said slowly. "The second boy looked as much like you as the first, but he was so different at the same time. His eyes looked to be a different color, but I couldn't really tell in the lighting. This one had a giant grin on his face, like he had been waiting for this moment his whole life, and appeared almost manic. He was definitely the leader of the three. But the weird thing... He had one of my swords in his hand, the Wolf, but not the Lion."

"This wasn't a magical dream was it? Do you even have those?" Jaime asked with growing interest. Maybe someone _else_ would kill the fucking dragon for them. Surely there had to be a thousand blond haired, green eyed young men in the Lannister army. The coloring was very common in Lannisport.

"I don't know," Arya replied. "Dreams are difficult. I can't always tell what's special and what's just my imagination running away from me in my sleep. Generally, my dreams mean nothing at all. But this one just made no sense. The dragon though... Gods it looked big enough to swallow a horse whole."

"Balerion the Dread could have swallowed the whole carriage," Jaime pointed out. "So maybe this one is smaller than that."

"It was the color of cream and breathed golden fire," she detailed. "It was beautiful in a sinister sort of way." She sounded breathless as she described the monster, and Jaime hoped that she didn't intend to try and tame the one in White Harbor. He shot Visenya a dirty look for good measure, and the lioness rubbed her giant head roughly against his leg.

"What about the third boy?" he asked as he remembered that she hadn't described the last one.

Arya thought for a moment before responding, "He had dark hair, it looked black in the shadow of the dragon. He looked the most frightened of the three, but he seemed to be drawing his strength from the second boy. They looked to be very close, so I can only assume they were friends. The two blonds may have been brothers, but I'm not sure."

"I don't suppose there is any chance that you've seen the future, and they'll kill the damn thing for us?" Jaime asked hopefully.

"I don't see the future like that," she laughed. "It's never that clear. I sometimes, _rarely_ , will dream something that may indicate the future. Like Ned Stark standing in the crypts at Winterfell on the night before he died. I never saw his head roll, but it still would have told me he was going to die if I had known what I was seeing at the time." She stopped for a second and shrugged. "Besides, it wasn't White Harbor. It was in King's Landing, on the shores of Blackwater Bay."

"Mores the pity," he sighed. "I don't suppose your next dream could tell us _how_ to slay a dragon."

"They were fighting it with swords," Arya said thoughtfully. "But the swords would hit the scales and without doing much. Each blow wounded the dragon slightly, but not enough to kill it. Its eye appeared to be bleeding though, so maybe they aimed for weak spots. Whatever they did, it worked, because my dream ended with the middle boy holding my sword aloft and it was on fire; the dragon was dead behind them."

"If only it was that easy," he said wistfully and scratched Visenya behind the ears.

 

* * *

 

The next day found them at Riverrun, and Jaime under siege from his aunt Genna.

"By the Gods, Jaime, you've finally grown into a man," she crowed as she pulled him into a tight hug against her ample bosom. "If only Joanna was here to see it. She would be so proud of you." His father disagreed as Jaime could hear the low sound of utter disapproval that he made. "Stop being sour, brother," she snapped at Tywin. "Let me adore my nephew in peace."

"By all means, Genna," his father said coldly and steered his horse around them

"Now let me see this boy of yours," his aunt gushed. Jaime didn't dare refuse and grabbed Tommen away from Arya to use as a shield. "Look at that face! Just like his father." Tommen, ever the sweet thing, went happily into her arms after that. Jaime smiled; it filled both of them with pride when people noted their similarities. Arya tried to slip around their aunt, but Genna took quick note of it and chastised, "Don't you try to escape from me, young lady. I don't believe I've gotten a kiss yet."

"So you haven't, aunt," Arya said genially and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

"To think, my niece married my nephew. I suppose we should have all seen this coming, but I expected it to be Cersei. A good thing it wasn't; I hear your sister has lost her mind," Genna said with a 'hrmph'. "Wildfire and letting that boy King abuse his subjects? To have such shamefulness in _our_ House almost makes me want to ride for the Capital today and grab her by the ear like the silly little girl she's proven herself to still be."

"She's evil," Tommen hissed.

"Not evil, sweetling," Genna corrected. "Just stupid."

 

* * *

 

They decided to spend the night at Riverrun, because it was the last real bed they would see for some time, and they would be riding from dawn until dusk the next day. Jaime laid in bed, waiting for his wife to finish with her meeting with father, and frowned in the darkness. Tommen was sleeping peacefully in the room over, and Jaime almost longed to go in and hold him awhile. Luckily, before he got that desperate, the door opened quietly and Arya slipped into the room.

He was silent as she stripped and slid into bed next to him, naked as usual, and put her head on his chest. Apparently his breathing gave him away, because she said, "You needn't stay up for me, Jaime."

"I wanted to talk," he said softly. "I wanted to know--."

"Why we've not been making love?" she finished for him and he took in a breath out of fear.

"Yes," he whispered in a shaky voice. He wasn't sure why the lack of sex was making him so worried; he had been celibate for years, so a few days of nothing wouldn't kill him. But they had been having so _much_ of it throughout their relationship that the disappearance of her passion had left him scared that he was about to be abandoned again.

The blacksmith had stayed behind at Casterly Rock, so he knew that she hadn't been bedding someone else. Or at least he thought he knew; it wasn't like Jaime expected Cersei to be bedding Lancel. Now his mind surged with jealousy at the thought of the Lorathi that Arya still wouldn't name from the Rock or even his cousin Daven, who had taken charge of part of their forces as one of her commanders. He knew, logically, that Daven would never betray him like that, but Jaime was upset and wanted to have someone to blame.

"I'm afraid, Jaime," Arya said simply in the darkness, so he couldn't see her face. "I've been hoping so hard that I would quicken each and every time that we made love, but now... What if I did, and I couldn't fight? What if I did, and I miscarried because I didn't know? What if I did, and I... There is always a chance in war... I'm not afraid to die--."

He stopped her right there. "You're _not_ going to die," he snarled. "Not now; not _ever_ , as long as I breathe. I won't allow it."

"You don't control the future, Jaime," she said, stronger this time. He could already tell that she was about to shut down any attempts he might make at convincing her not to fight. And how could he say them with a straight face? She was a better fighter than he was now, and even he wouldn't back down from the battle.

"I won't-I won't spill inside you then," Jaime said lamely, trying to take the conversation away from the talk of death. "I promise."

"Oh Jaime," she sighed and lifted up to kiss him. He let his tongue tangle with hers and show her how deeply he needed to be one with her again. Her hands drifted down to his cock and he went hard in an instant. "Then make me yours again. Remind me of how you feel when you're inside me, brother."

 

* * *

 

They left the next morning, with their party, and their cub in Genna's arms. Jaime knew his aunt could be trusted to keep Tommen safe, and Arya left Visenya and her pride behind to play with him, but he still felt like a piece of his soul was getting left behind. Arya looked the closest to crying that he had ever seen her, as they hugged their son to their hearts before leaving.

Tommen seemed to understand, though it killed Jaime to see him cry. He had kissed each of their faces half a hundred times, and made them swear by the sun, moon, and stars that they would come back for him when the battle was done. He had done one better and swore by the Old Gods and the New.

The road through the Riverlands was cold and depressing, now that the main sunshine of their lives had been taken from them. All he could hear was the sound of hoof beats and clanking metal; everyone was sober and silent. This wasn't a normal war they were riding off towards; this was a dragon and an army of some of the best fighters in the world. They may have been able to marshal 30,000 from the Westerlands and Riverlands, but the rest had to be left behind to guard the West. To defend the city and the coast, they would need to rely on picking up the City Watch from White Harbor and troops from the surrounding holds. Moat Cailin was only recently freed from the Greyjoys, and Roose Bolton held no love in the North for them to capitalize on.

Arya seemed sure that Bolton planned to betray them now that winter was setting in; thinking the snows would keep the Southerners out. He was only warden of the North as long as Sansa remained missing and without heir, and, should Sansa be dead, any children between Arya and Jaime would still have better claim to Winterfell than Bolton. His ambition would be the death of the man, and Jaime wasn't sad to hear it. He just hoped that Hoat was somewhere in the North and made the mistake of crossing his path.

"My Lady, my Lord," a soldier called as he rode up beside them. "You... We may need your help up here, my Lady. Your talents with the lions in particular."

"Why?" Arya asked, cold as ice with everyone but Jaime lately, and kicked her horse to ride to the front of their troops. He followed and quickly noted that the march had stopped for some reason. The soldier didn't answer, and, instead, galloped off towards the front of the host; a bold move likely made out of fright, Jaime suspected.

" _It's bigger than a fucking horse_ ," a man cried, and another shouted, " _Look at how many there are!_ "

Now Jaime was deeply curious, so he pressed his horse to go faster. He managed to get ahead of Arya, and looked back to smirk at her as he made it to the forefront first. Or he would have, if the voices of the men around him hadn't alerted him to a grave mistake first, " _My Lord, no!_ " It was too late for that, because the next thing he knew, his horse was missing its throat. The beast fell, and Jaime went with it.

" _Shit_ ," he yelled aloud as he hit the ground with a slight roll. Luckily for him, he had been thrown from the saddle and his leg hadn't been crushed. It would do him ill to be a cripple twice over. His head lifted and he found himself staring into two giant yellow eyes accompanied with bloodied teeth. He forgot to be afraid, shocked beyond all reason at what he was looking at, and familiarity took over as he greeted, "Hello, Nymeria."


	15. The Eye of the Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a tad shorter than some, but the next one is probably going to be very long and take me awhile to write. 
> 
> Song for this Chapter: Bad Girl's World by Halestorm

Arya leapt from her saddle as she made it to the front and saw Jaime surrounded by a pack of wolves so large that she couldn't count them. Nymeria was at the front, and she felt her heart swell with memories.

"Nymeria, leave him," she commanded as instinct took over, but her direwolf didn't back down. All the wolves around her growled at Jaime, but didn't lunge. Her husband was kneeling and staring at the wolf three times his size calmly and without fear. She momentarily stunned. Why had he reacted so badly to Visenya if Nymera, who was _much_ bigger, was nothing to him? He reached a hand out and ran it through the fur on her head, and Nymeria seemed as shocked as Arya felt because she sat back on her haunches and tilted her head at him.

The growling from her pack stopped immediately, and some stepped up to sniff at Jaime, who continued to pet her direwolf as though he was in no danger at all. After a moment, Nymeria seemed to judge him friend rather than foe and licked his cheek. Then all the wolves rushed in fearlessly to examine this newcomer; none seemed to care about the thousands of men standing before them in the host.

"I seem to have found your pet, wife," Jaime called from under a pile of younger wolves. "And she seems to have missed me." Arya just gaped at him and flicked her eyes between her husband and her wolf.

Nymeria seemed to take note of her after that, and stalked over to her side and nipped at her fingers. It didn't hurt, and Arya knew it wasn't meant to. Overwhelmed, she lowered herself to the ground to stare Nymeria in the eyes and said, "I've missed you, stupid wolf. You always were a pain to control." Her wolf licked her and howled loudly. Everyone looked up to watch as the rest of the pack flooded out of the wood. There had to be two hundred among them, and they all looked to Nymeria for direction. Her wolf just looked back to her and waited.

Arya took a breath, long and deep, and tried to grab control of their minds. It wasn't easy with so many; her lion pride only had three to keep a hold on. Slowly, she started to feel it work and, one by one, their eyes all went grey like hers as she slid into each of their minds a little bit. Her eyes closed, and when they opened, she would have bet they were milk white as she was seeing through Nymeria's eyes. She looked at her frightened looking husband and then to her own body through her wolf and, sure enough, her eyes were completely clouded over.

From what she could feel, all the wolves seemed to be willing to submit as long as Nymeria did, so she prompted Nymeria to give a howl of acceptance. Every wolf, even the pups, howled back in response and shifted anxiously. They all awaited her command. So she commanded them to follow, and withdrew from their minds.

Arya stood, walked over to her husband, and helped Jaime to his feet. The wolves around him seemed sad at the loss of their new pack member, and they all fixed her with confused stares. She smiled down at them, happy to have a wolf pack of her own. A lion pride and a wolf pack, she thought with amusement. Perhaps her Stark blood was good for something after all.

"Tommen is going to want a pup," Jaime said confidently. "Will it be safe for him to have one?"

"Yes," she replied and picked up a little one tugging at the laces of her boots. "They're only half direwolf, so it should be easy enough for him to tame. What color do you think he'd want?"

"We'll let him pick," her husband declared with a nod and a smile. Arya returned it and led him to her horse; the pack followed.

"Why didn't you fear her?" Arya asked curious to know. "You were terrified of Visenya at first."

"Your brother introduced me to his wolf many times during my stay as his prisoner, and Nymeria might as well be an extension of you. I knew she wouldn't hurt me," he surmised with a shrug. "I'm glad I wasn't wrong, but my horse wasn't so lucky."

 

* * *

 

It was a fortnight until they had reached their destination, and Arya was tired. Jaime was half asleep in the saddle beside her, as they rode into White Harbor, flags flying proud. The Northerners all glared angrily at them as they passed, and Arya fought down the urge to snarl back at them like the lioness that she was. Nymeria did the job for her, and no one was stupid enough to glare for long.

The city was beautiful, all caked in fresh snow, but that didn't make her any more eager to be there. They had been unlucky to get caught in the snow on their way into the North and that left them unable to stop to secure any more soldiers. They would need to make do with what they had, and it didn't feel like enough. If the Dragon Queen's forces decided to land at Oldcastle instead of White Harbor, it definitely would not be.

" _Lion scum!_ " some voice called from the safety of the back of the crowd. Arya let the ice of her heart cover her features and she held her head high and proud. She didn't need to let these fools think they had upset her in any way.

The merman banners of House Manderly flew all over the city, as they rode towards the New Castle. To some, the Manderlys were known as the 'Lannisters of the North', with their large stores of gold and belief in the Faith. But they were nothing in comparison to the true force of House Lannister, and Arya intended to remind them of that today.

Lord Wyman was waiting outside the New Castle, with an enraged look on his fat face, and Arya fixed him with a cold stare. His brow broke out into sweat, despite the cold, and Arya could see him flinch as he made a show of looking over their forces to break her gaze.

"Lord Tywin," he greeted nervously, but loudly, ignoring Arya. "Why have you come so far North? I received no notice--."

"We sent none," Arya said fluidly as she slid from her saddle and walked towards him, removing her gloves as she went. She hated when people ignored her, and nothing made her want to put a man in his place more. "Let's go inside. We have much to discuss, my Lord." She motioned for them to bring forth the one prisoner she had thought to bring along, and her men shoved Lord Wyman's son, Wylis, to the front. "Release him," she commanded, and they obeyed.

"Wylis!" Lord Wyman cried as his equally fat son was allowed to go to him. She had made sure that he was well kept and well fed before returning him as a show of peace. "Thank you, my Lady. I--Who are you?" Arya lowered her hood, and the man reared back. "A ghost! Lyanna Stark back from the damned grave!"

"Arya _Lannister_ ," she corrected, harsher than necessary; the man couldn't know she had changed Houses. Lord Wyman stuttered an apology and looked between her, Jaime, and Tywin, who was content to sit back and watch her lead. He liked to correct her on her mistakes later.

"You've got Ned's look," the man wondered aloud and Arya put her head up high and walked into the castle without another word. She could hear Jaime behind her japing snidely, "Look now, my Lord, you've managed to infuriate her three times in five minutes. You may have taken a new record."

 

* * *

 

" _You must be japing,_ " Lord Wyman shouted across the table as Arya informed him why they had ridden into his city with no warning. "The city is unprepared! If you had sent notice--."

"If I had sent notice, you could have organized a surrender before I reached you, and I would be facing Unsullied and Northmen as well as a dragon. I refused to risk it," Arya said coolly with one hand tapping a meaningless beat on the wood of the table. Looking bored at the sight of their panic seemed to unnerve most men, and Arya had mastered the art long ago. "We will bolster your ranks, our army is 30,000 strong and waiting outside your gates. Surely, between us, we should have no issues repelling the little Targaryen's splinter force."

"Splinter... _Splinter force_?" the man sputtered. "She's flying a _dragon_ towards my city, and you have no idea when she will arrive! How well will your men fight when they roast in their armor?"

"You sound fearful, Lord Wyman," Jaime said with a sharp smirk. "Perhaps you should find a stallion capable of carrying your fat arse and flee. We'll defend the city, and go home heroes." Arya admired his ability to feign the courage, since she knew he was even more worried than the lump of a man before them. They would be doing the fighting, after all.

"I will not be mocked in my own castle!"

"You really believe that this is your castle whilst I am staying within its halls, my Lord?" Arya threatened casually. "I do not like to repeat myself, but if you insist: I have 30,000 men outside your walls. I will be making the decisions here, or you will be taking your leave."

"Your father--," Lord Wyman started foolishly.

"Her father is sitting before you," Tywin finished in his most intimidating voice. "And you would do well to hear my daughter's commands. They might yet save your pathetic hide."

Jaime and Daven shared a smirk, and Kevan, who had been silent up until this point, coughed to hide a small laugh as Lord Wyman turned to stone at the words. As much as Arya loved hearing it, she still felt outdone by her father's presence. His legacy commanded so much more respect than she was able to pull from it. Lord Tywin Lannister was a name that every man pissed themselves when they heard he was outside their gates, but 'Arya Lannister'? She was just a little girl playing at war for anyone outside the West.

"If the letter was truthful, and my source backing it up was correct, then her forces should be sailing into the Bite in under a fortnight. We must prepare. I want the walls stocked with barrels of pitch and every archer in the city should never want for arrows. Make sure the wall separating your harbors is best defended. Surely, my late brother would have equipped you well to handle a siege by sea, though one never came," she commented lazily, as though it was all coming naturally to her. The effect was immediate, and Lord Wyman fixed her with a cautious stare and nodded. Confidence could unman someone as well as cruelty.

"Good; see to your defenses and I will see to putting men along the shore. The snow should hide the red of our tents quickly enough, and our encampment will hide behind the dunes. They shouldn't be able to see what we've got on the ground until they land."

"And the dragon?" her uncle asked calmly. "How do we intend to bring it out of the sky?"

"I haven't decided," Arya conceded. "I'll need to see it first, but prepare siege weapons."

"You think it will be that big?" Lord Wyman questioned with his hand trembling on the tabletop for all to see. "Siege weapons could destroy a whole ship if we managed to hit them, but we don't have many and not enough ammo. A flying dragon will be harder to hit. Surely it couldn't be big enough that we wouldn't miss. It would have to be bigger than one of their ships."

"Likely bigger," she said as she looked away and hoped she was wrong.


	16. Long Live Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This consumed my evening. A rare multi POV chapter.
> 
> Songs for this Chapter (take your pick):  
> Adrenaline by Shinedown  
> Pirates of the Caribbean Theme covered by Epica  
> Black Sails Theme by Bear McCreary (This goes with Arya's speech.)  
> Part of Me by Katy Perry  
> Saeed by Infected Mushrooms  
> Or pretty much anything off the Metal Gear Rising: Revengeance soundtrack.

It felt too soon to actually be happening, Jaime mused as his eyes settled on the dark wings on the horizon. They had only been preparing for three days, and it was already time for the test. His right arm ached where his sword hand had once been. How was he supposed to fight this? He'd be a dead man before the day was out.

"Gods help us all," Daven prayed from Jaime's right. Arya was silent as the grave on his left with father to hers; they both wore ominous frowns. His cousin continued muttering, "I've not even had any sons." Jaime counted himself lucky in that regard. He had Tommen to remember him if he was to meet his end, and to carry on his bloodline, if not his name.

"Alert the men," Arya commanded the gaping guards behind her with an unshakable confidence. He envied her; she faked it so fucking well, he thought jealously. "Get them in position along the beach to deal with the Unsullied. I'll figure out something to handle the dragon."

"How long do we have?" Jaime asked and his voice sounded dead already to his ears. The real answer to that question was: not enough time.

"Two, maybe three hours, if the wind stays against them. The dragon will be here sooner. An hour and a half at best," she replied as she turned from the balcony and headed off to get into her armor. Jaime followed with one last look at the deceivingly tiny black beast out at sea. They walked in silence to their chambers, and Arya didn't even collapse as he had expected when the door shut on them. She was already ready for the battle, he could tell, because her fear was gone from her face and behavior. His wife was already ready for the do or die.

"What do we do?" he asked, feeling foolish for always needing to look to her for guidance. He wanted to be the one with the plan for once.

"I'm going to kill it," she said smoothly as she pulled her armor on piece by piece. His heart stopped at the determination in her tone.

" _You're_ going to kill it? Don't you mean ' _we're_ ' going to kill it?"

She looked him full in the eye as she clarified, "I said what I meant Jaime." She didn't look to be japing, and Jaime knew that meant she was completely serious. His jaw dropped and his heart began to race. She _had_ to know that was a suicide mission. He couldn't lose her like that.

" _No_ ," Jaime growled. "No you can't be serious. We have siege weapons. We'll knock it out of the fucking sky."

"I can tell already from the way it moves that we won't be able to hit it. We'd never get a clear shot, and, even if we did, it looks to be fast enough to dodge. And once it's on the ground, then what? Someone will need to kill it; the arrows won't pierce its scales. It will have to be swords or pikes, and I can't trust anyone else with this job," Arya explained, and Jaime was at least thankful that she didn't sound excited about it. It gave him hope that he would be able to convince her not to go through with it.

"Anyone else, please. Arya, my love, _sister_ , _anyone else_ ," he pleaded, falling to his knees before her in a way he would do for no one else. His hand clutched at hers and he brought it to his lips desperately. "Not like this. Don't leave me yet."

"I have to do this, Jaime," she whispered regretfully. "I just know that I have to do this."

She had been so distant for the last few days, and Jaime often found her waking from her dreams with a start, drenched in sweat. There was something she wasn't tell him, and he wanted so much to know what it was, but he hadn't pried. He thought that she would tell him in time, but it never came up.

"Just tell me why," he breathed and put his head against her thigh. "I don't understand."

"Neither do I," she murmured and slid down to join him on the floor. "I'm sorry, Jaime. I just _know_ I need to do this. I had a feeling for the last few days. Fate just seemed to be aligning this way, for some time now, and I wanted to ignore it. Now that I've seen it, I know I can't let anyone else die like that for me. No one is better than I am, so why would I ask someone else?"

Arya cupped his face in her hands and smiled in a way that wasn't quite sad, but not happy either. "How can I ask men to follow me through the Seven Hells and back, if I'm willing to hide behind high walls and not fight for them? The men are terrified of that beast, Jaime, but I know how to fight through fear."

"You don't need to die for them, Arya," he begged. "No one will think less of you."

"You're right," she agreed in a very serious voice, one that had him listening intently. "But they'll think higher of me if I manage to kill it. I could win the North's everlasting support, by winning White Harbor today, _and_ beat back the Dragon Queen for years. No one would ever dare cross us again, and we could add 'Dragonslayer' to the family titles."

" _Fuck the titles_ ," he spat. "Fuck the legacy. This isn't about that! This is about me losing the love of my life to dragonfire. I won't sit idly by while you throw your life away for father's dream of being the greatest House of all time."

"You think this is about father's legacy?" she asked softly and caressed his cheek. "No this is much bigger than that, Jaime. I need to beat her back and frighten our enemies. I won't be able to fight them all through the winter, and I need to make a show of force _now_. If I fail here today, we're all going to die by dragonfire anyway, and I will lose so much more than just my life."

"I don't understand," Jaime demanded again. "Why? What more is there to lose?"

"Tommen," she said gravely. "All of our armies. Unless I can get that dragon on the ground, it could fly over top of us and roast them alive. If I can get it away though, and, wound it at least, then we could have time to push back the Unsullied and maybe land a hit with a siege weapon. Once the Targaryen's army is out of the way, they could finish off the dragon. But, make no mistake, if we do not win here, it won't matter. She'll gain a foothold, and she will conquer the Seven Kingdoms."

"How do you know that?" he asked angrily; he wasn't willing to give up on this. "She could find nothing but rejection here and decide to return to Slaver's Bay where she already conquered several cities. The snows will keep her up North all winter."

"Dragons don't care whether there is snow on the ground, Jaime," Arya said with a sigh. "She will fly her three fucking dragons to Casterly Rock and burn Lannisport. We may be able to hold out at the Rock, due to the nature of our castle, but not forever. She could wait and starve us out. Then who stands between her and the Iron Throne? Joffery? Stannis? Practically no one at all, and then we'll have another Queen who believes in burning her enemies alive."

"Relax, my love," she continued after a moment of quiet. "I refuse to die today. I won't let it happen. I've already seen it all in a dream."

"You said your dreams didn't work like that," Jaime pointed it out miserably. A conversation earlier in the week had informed him that her magic would likely be all but useless against a dragon, so he didn't even have that hope.

"This one did," Arya said with a whisper and a squeeze of Jaime's good hand. "Now get into your armor. We'll need to get ready."

 

* * *

 

Arya felt like a monster for not telling him the whole truth, but she knew what Jaime would say if he knew, and she couldn't afford him interfering. She _had_ dreamed of this, for the past several nights, and now she knew for sure what it all meant. It felt like two little flames had taken up residence inside her, and they both glowed with power. Power that needed to be fed from the heart of a dragon, or so her dreams indicated. Unfortunately, the dream failed to mention if she was going to survive this encounter, but it didn't really matter. Either she lived, and the dragon died, or the dragon lived and she died one way or another. It was something that she wouldn't, couldn't let happen anymore. There was no other option; Arya had to win.

"I will bet it all," she mouthed to no one, willing Jaime to understand what she couldn't say. "To win it all back double." Arya had come up from nothing at all. She was born a Lord's second daughter and then became an orphan of 'traitor' blood. When she had met Tywin, she could have kicked and screamed and been thrown to the dogs, but, instead, she convinced him to raise her up as his own. She had, little by little, bet everything many times over and won each one. Now was when it mattered, and she would not back down from the challenge. Not anymore; not with her whole future on the line.

Her dreams had been horrible sights to behold until she began dreaming of winning. First she saw what was at risk if she lost: Lannisport ablaze, Casterly Rock blackened and crumbling, Jaime's dead body hunched over their son, and silver blond hair and violet eyes on the Iron Throne. Then she saw the battle, and how to win. Arya knew already what it was going to take, and she was prepared to do it.

It helped to make her feel more confident; if there was only one option, then that's what would happen. Arya _never_ lost.

 

* * *

 

They walked out, both in shining armor, to address the troops. She could see the dragon fully now, and it was huge beyond reason. Jaime swore and said, "Gods it _is_ Balerion the Dread." Arya had to agree; she had seen Balerion's skull in the dungeons of King's Landing, and this monster was most certainly the same size. Oddly enough, he was the same color, and that gave her some hope. Her most recent dreams featured the same creature, black and red with black fire, a proper Targaryen dragon. She killed the same beast in her dreams. Nymeria growled low in her throat beside them, and Arya ran her gauntleted hand through her fur to calm her. She and her pack would be with the defense; any excess people or animals around the dragon would just be collateral damage.

The commanders and troops were waiting for her address below the wall, on the ground, and she stood from above. Daven fixed her and Jaime with a nervous look and tossed his head and great mane backwards towards the quickly advancing dragon and ships of Unsullied. Arya ignored it and scanned her eyes over their forces. It would be enough, she decided, as she could see how well positioned they were to deal with the Unsullied as they came ashore.

Her father and uncle Kevan walked up behind her and she knew it was time. With a deep breath, she began to shout, "My Lords, commanders, and men, I know you look upon the beast before you and feel fear in your hearts. Don't despair; I won't ask you to kill it." A few laughed nervously in the crowd, but most just kept staring at her expectantly.

She paced slowly along the wall as she continued, "This woman, the Targaryen child who fled with her brother when my husband and father put an end to the reign of her father, Aerys the Second of his Name, The Mad King, now presumes to return to Westeros to rule over all of us. She would see your Liege Lord's head on a spike for the bravery to bring down a man who had once been his close friend. She would see my head on a spike for the sake of being a daughter to one of the men who rose against her father. She would see my husband's head on a spike for saving the city of King's Landing, and _all_ those within from Aerys's Wildfire."

A few of the men murmured at that, but Arya paid them no mind as she went on, "She would see my son dead for the sin of being a Lannister." Her father gave her a peculiar look, but she ignored him. "She would see _your_ sons dead for the sins of being the sons of our bannermen. She would rule over your wives and daughters and children, telling them you were traitors to the crown that never belonged to her in the first place, and they would mourn you in secret. She was born at sea, and has no homeland to call her own, so she hopes to come steal _ours_."

"Some of you are Northmen, some of you are from the Riverlands, and others are of the West, but, today, you are all brothers in arms. Put aside your petty differences and hatreds, because today you're not fighting your neighbor. You are fighting to keep the daughter of a mad man from coming and claiming her 'birthright'. You are fighting to keep Westeros free of the tyranny of House Targaryen," she cried to the sound of applause. "You fight for the chance to fight your enemies a different day. This woman isn't this House's or that House's enemy; she is enemy to all those who live and breathe in Westeros. She wants to conquer all of us equally."

The men were yelling encouragements now, and her family looked on with proud expressions, but Arya couldn't stop yet as she swept a hand out towards the sea. "Stand with me today, and stand with me tomorrow, because you will see it dawn. We will be victorious here today, and, together, we will rebuild the Seven Kingdoms. United in peace and stronger than ever before. Fight now for your families and for yourselves, not your craven King who hides behind his mother's skirts and massacres children. _We_ will see our Kingdoms whole again, but not under the Dragon Queen's rule."

Arya took a deep breath and made one final yell, "As long as I stand, I will never stand for my people burning alive. I will break our enemies down until only dust remains, and then I will scatter them to the wind. Stand firm and strong, and do not break the line. Do not give way to allow them a foothold in _our_ realm. What do these 'Unsullied' know of our winters? What does Daenerys Targaryen know of _our_ Houses? Today we will give the little Dragon Queen her first lesson in the workings of Westeros: cross us if you dare."

She turned from them as the cheers erupted across a force thirty thousand men strong, shaking the castle's stones as she walked towards her father, head held high and fire in her eyes. Tywin looked at her, and smiled. It was like being struck by the hand of a God, and Arya felt her heart speed up even further.

"You make me proud," he said simply, sincerely, and put his hand on her shoulder.

"If I die today," she said under her breath, so Jaime wouldn't hear. "Tommen is my heir."

"I will see it done," her father agreed and let her pass.

 

* * *

 

Jaime knew at that moment that he had stolen the hand of a very important woman away from thousands of suitors. He had somehow come to marry the real Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and he hadn't even noticed until now. She was every inch what Joffrey only claimed to be: a ruler.

Arya walked away from the thunderous, almost deafening applause that the Unsullied were _sure_ to hear, like it was nothing more than a chat with a servant. Jaime, amazed, went to follow her, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him short. His father was looking at him, sternly compared to the smile he had just given Arya so freely. Jaime had never seen his father smile in his whole life until that moment, but it seemed so meaningless when he could hear a dragon roaring from the bay.

"I expect you will be going with her to slay the dragon," Tywin stated and Jaime was struck by it. He had never even considered trying to _help_ her slay it. What was he going to do with his missing hand? Still, he nodded. "If she doesn't come back alive, do not bother doing so yourself."

He felt gutted for a moment, a bare second, before his blood surged in furious rage. "I will do as I please, not as you command me, father. You may notice, I'm not a child anymore. Now get out of my way; we've got a dragon to attend to." Jaime shrugged the hand off his shoulder and stalked away after his wife, without a single care as to how his father received his words.

Arya must have heard it, because she turned to give him a wide stare with a lifted eyebrow as they turned the corner. He just shrugged again, and smiled more cockily than he actually felt. "I don't suppose you need some help?" he asked good-naturedly.

His love laughed and said, "Oh don't worry, I always intended to have you come with me. We'll both be heroes."

"Or at least we'll die together," Jaime finished, still grinning.

With that, they rushed towards the tower furthest out into the bay. It was as close as they would be able to get to the dragon, who was now swooping low over the water and breathing black fire that boiled the sea. Jaime could almost feel the heat from the breath, it was so close now. He could make out some features on it; it was black with a red spine and horns and blood red eyes. It looked like it had flown right off the Targaryen banner. And, Gods, was it huge beyond all compare. Their largest work horse could have ridden right down its gullet.

Arya was staring at it, as the sound of its beating wings grew louder. Suddenly, he heard her laugh and turn to the remaining guard on the tower, the only Northman who had been brave enough not to flee already, and commanded, "Get me a bow and some arrows. The best you can find. _Now_."

"I thought you said that arrows wouldn't do anything?" Jaime hissed as it became increasingly apparent that this dragon would be close enough to burn them in minutes. Their position on the tower put them at level with the monster, and the walls weren't high enough to conceal them. "The scales--."

"I'm not aiming for the scales," Arya replied with a sharp, confident grin.

"My Lady," the guard cried, breathless, as he rushed back up the tower clutching a bow and quiver full of arrows. Jaime was impressed; the man had brought back a rather fine bow.

"Dragonbone," Arya declared with an approving smile. "Good, this will do. Now go tell someone to have our horses saddled and pass the word along to open the gates."

"O-Open the _gates_ , my Lady?" the man stuttered.

"Yes, do you think the dragon is going to stop at a closed gate? The shore is well defended and you can have them shut it after us, but we'll need to get out," Arya said with some annoyance. "Now _go_." The man was smart enough to flee after that.

"How are you going to hit it?" Jaime asked nervously now that they were alone. Arya didn't answer him, but waited. Jaime looked between her and the approaching dragon several times before settling his eyes on her; she still didn't draw. "You could take a few practice shots," he suggested desperately, which she met with a glare. The dragon was close enough now that Jaime could smell the sulfur of its breath and see steam rising off of it in the cold morning air.

"Now," Arya said finally, and drew... and released. She didn't pause, and she certainly didn't aim. And then she turned around and left.

" _What_?" Jaime cried.

"Never hold," she said as she rushed down the stairs of the tower. A horrible roar filled the air and Jaime turned to see the dragon reeling in the air like it was going to crash to the ground; its eye had an arrow straight through it. Gaping for a mere second, he turned and ran after his wife, who he found already in the saddle. "Hurry," she called as she galloped away without waiting for him at all.

"Seven Hells," he growled and lunged into his own saddle and kicked the horse to a gallop. He had picked one hell of a woman, for sure.

A crash that shook the entire city, scattering dust from the towers, and setting the men to cry out in exultation alerted Jaime that the dragon had, indeed, fallen from the sky. Jaime felt emboldened, and brave again. Like a teenager off to fight his first real battle. Like he wasn't riding against a beast seventy times his size with one hand and no experience with this. Seeing Arya, calm as ever, pull a dragon from the sky had filled his veins with fire and courage. It gave him hope that they could do this. As long as they were together, he wouldn't let them fail.

The streets were lined with people cheering them on as they rode out as quickly as their horses would take them, and the gates were open as Arya had ordered. Jaime spotted the exhausted, collapsed guard from the tower by the gatehouse, and he made a note to have him knighted for this. And now, he felt like he would survive to see it happen.

Outside the city, the snows were thick, but not as bad as they could have been. Arya had it all cleared each morning to prepare for this, and the dragon had fallen on a part of the land where no snow currently lay. Jaime hoped that made the landing even worse for the beast, who seemed dazed even from a distance.

He looked to his wife, and saw her grinning and leaning forward in her saddle. Like _this_ was her true calling, and Jaime couldn't even believe he had thought to deny it to her just an hour ago.

"I hope you have a plan," he called with laughter that seemed manic.

"Don't die," she returned with a laugh of her own. "Don't get breathed on."

That actually seemed like it would be easier than expected, because the dragon appeared to have fallen onto a tree that punctured one wing and seemingly pinned it to the ground. It was moving its head around sluggishly as they rode in close as they dared, and hopped off their horses. No need for good warhorses to die.

"It's rather wounded," Jaime pointed out gleefully. "Perhaps we've already won."

"I don't think so," Arya said with a smirk, and, with no more warning, drew both her swords and charged the beast on foot. _That_ is when Jaime's fear kicked back in as he saw her duck and weave under a massive clawed foot that rose up to crush her, and then slide over the other to get to the dragon's blind side. All the bravery fled from him, but the fire in his veins stayed and that was enough to spur him forward.

The dragon was flailing as Arya sliced at its side with her steel, so Jaime thought to try his hand on the side pinned to the tree. This was, in hindsight, a bad idea as the dragon whipped around and let forth a torrent of fire that missed him by a foot and set the tree ablaze with black and red fire. Angry at having missed, it swung around again to try another breath, but Jaime slid between the body and tree around to its backend.

"Jaime, _no_ ," Arya cried out from the other side, and Jaime quickly learned why as the tail, long and sinuous, was thrashing about wildly. It whipped just above his head, leaving him disoriented from the sound, and the next thing he heard was it crashing down just in front of him. Confused, and lucky beyond measure, Jaime tried to run around to the side where Arya was, but the tail came down again blocking his path. It moved, fast as lighting, towards Jaime's feet in a perfect sweep and he instinctively jumped. The soles of his greaves just barely caught the scales and sent Jaime tipping forward towards the ground, but he managed to recover with a roll that left him on the proper side of the dragon.

"Very close," Arya breathed as the dragon swung its huge head towards them. They both lashed out and Arya managed to slice through part of its horn, though Jaime's blade was all but useless against the scales. His wife gave him a quick look and said, "Sheath your sword." He did so, and she tossed him her left blade, the Lion, and continued to fight with the Wolf.

He would have marveled at the lightness of the blade, at its perfect killing potential, but the dragon was angry and flailing harder at every hit. It managed to stand slightly to free the wing it had trapped under its body, and they both had to close in near the head to avoid the now flapping wing. Arya's hair was hitting her face wildly from the wind created by the wing, and she had to look away for a moment to clear her vision. It was then that the dragon managed to wrench the tree it was pinned to free from the earth and turn fully towards them. It's mouth opened, and Jaime could smell the sulfur breath and feel the heat of its fire. If it breathed, they were dead, and all for not.

Fearful of losing his wife, of losing their fight, he lunged forward with a powerful yell and shoved the blade right through the soft part of the dragon's lower jaw and up into its snout, effectively pinning it closed. Fire poured out of the sides, but at angles that directed it far from Arya and Jaime, who were now down one sword.

The beast, however, seemed to notice it was losing this fight, and began to flap harder than ever with its damaged wings. The power alone was making up for the holes in one wing and the tree embedded in the other, and it began to lift off the ground.

" _Not today_ ," Arya screamed and threw herself on its back. Jaime shouted incomprehensibly in surprise and followed her, barely clinging to some of the spikes in time to secure himself before it launched into the air clumsily.

"What now?" he called, as he clung for dear life. The dragon was flying erratically, and Jaime could see the Unsullied landing on the beach on the other side of the bay.

"We land, in one piece or many," Arya responded as loud as she could over the beating of its wings. She inched up its neck, pushed back by the wind, and tightened her legs around it and swung down towards its throat. Jaime's eyes went wide, as he could hear her yell with effort and felt the dragon lurch violently in the air. Arya's legs started to slip, and, as though the world was moving five times slower than usual, he could see _her_ life flash before his eyes. She was falling, his wife, his love, and if he let go to grab her, he would fall too. So that's exactly what he did, as he threw his hand out and released his grip on the spikes of the dragon's back. He managed to get her by the ankle right as she started to fall, and he was dragged forward by her weight. Together, they were slipping off the back of the dragon, fifty to seventy feet in the air, and now they were at risk of hitting the beach, where it appeared the dragon was crashing towards.

The slide felt slow and seemed to be taking forever, and Jaime was sure that it was some heightened state before death causing it. Until, that is, Arya yelled for him to pull her up, which is when he realized that his armor, and the laces on his golden hand, had caught the spikes and stopped their fall. With an inhuman strength that he didn't even know he possessed, he pulled her up, armor, sword, and all. His wife gasped and held onto him as the dragon fell to the ground with them on its back. Her sword was flaming against the dragons scales, and Jaime thought it looked even more beautiful like that. But not as beautiful as Arya looked, hair everywhere, her own blood on her armor and cuts on her face, but a smile just for him.

The impact of the dragon on the sand jarred him, but not as badly as he was expecting because they both were thrown onto its leathery wing and bounced off into the sand as the dragon slid further along the coast. They laid there in the sand for a moment that felt like an hour, with Arya still in his arms, and he realized all at once: they were alive. The dragon, he spared a look at, wasn't moving, and they were alive. They had killed a _dragon_ , and they were alive.

The world around them was oddly quiet, as Arya stood first, and squared her shoulders. Jaime walked over to the dead monster and found the Lion still sticking out of its jaws, he pulled it out and it blazed as brightly as its twin. He handed it to her with a grin that threatened to split his face, and pulled his own sword from the sheath. Together, triumphant, they walked over the dune where a thousand Unsullied were gathered on the beach and ten thousand Westerosi were gathered on the hills. They all looked at them, and Jaime noticed that the fighting hadn't even begun yet. Arya laughed brightly, and held her swords to the heavens.

The cheers from earlier did the ones they greeted them with now absolutely no justice as the roar of the army shook the ground, the castle, and the trees around them. The Unsullied seemed to realize what they had just gotten into, as some began to flee back to the boats. Arya made one wave of her sword in to signal the word ' _loose_ ', and hundreds of flaming arrows flew from the towers and onto the boats, lighting them on fire.

With no escape route, and no dragon, the Unsullied quickly resigned themselves to their fate and rushed the front lines. Arya made another motion ' _charge_ ', and their men greeted the foreigners with pikes. They cast each other an eager glance, and ran down the dune to join in the combat. If a dragon didn't do them in, a bunch of already defeated eunuchs wasn't about to.

 

* * *

 

When the battle was over, Arya had never felt such fatigue in her whole life, but they had _won_. Jaime lifted her into his arms as they made it back to the castle in one piece, and Daven cheered drunkenly behind them; their cousin had drunk almost an entire barrel of ale as soon as the fighting was done. Tywin was waiting inside, with an almost disbelieving look at her flaming swords. Their fire was petering out, but the blades were still red hot. The inside of a dragon's heart and mouth seemed to have no ill effects on Valyrian steel, which was forged by dragon breath in the first place. Lord Wyman looked like he was going to piss himself at the sight of them.

"I see you've succeeded," her father congratulated. "You'll be remembered for this for centuries."

" _We_ will be remembered," she corrected with a smile at Jaime. "I would have died if not for him. So make your peace."

"So we shall," Tywin agreed with another smile, the second on the same day, and placed his hand on Jaime's shoulder. "Today, you've both made me proud." Her husband gaped like a fish, and their father walked off to deal with the politics side of war.

"He smiled _twice_ today?" Jaime asked incredulously. "Perhaps we did die, Arya."

"Mm, I think he's just pleased," she laughed. "Think of what everyone will say about our House now: The Dragonslayers."

"It's got a better ring to it than Kingslayer for sure," Jaime japed.

"I thought," she said carefully, running a finger along his jaw. "That perhaps we'd let the children go by that title. I personally like Kingslayer, and I think 'Dragonslayer Twins' is a good legacy to give to our sons."

"Oh and you're so sure we'll have twins?" Jaime teased with a kiss to her forehead.

"Quite, since they're in my womb right this moment."

Jaime laughed and then he seemed to understand what it was she was saying, because the next words out of his mouth were, " _What did you just say_?"


	17. A Life Full Circle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is at the same time almost done and yet far from over. There is a significant time skip ahead, that I may just break into a sequel and wrap this story up before it happens. I'd just continue writing in a new story, so that they could be read back to back without the need for a disorienting time jump in the middle. So feedback if you'd prefer to see it all lumped under one name rather than broken into two. 
> 
> Song for this Chapter: Centuries by Fall Out Boy

Jaime was furious with her after that, but it was the comforting type of angry. He was clearly floored by her announcement, and had dragged her up to their rooms immediately afterwards. He was intermittently growling and turning around suddenly to run his hands over the armor on her stomach with a gentleness that amused her greatly.

"They're safe, Jaime," she assured him with a smirk. "I can still feel their lives inside me. Before the battle, they were just tiny flames of magic and now they're both roaring fires. The dragon's magic was strong, and now that magic belongs to me." Arya shrugged and added, "Or to us, I suppose."

"You could have miscarried!" Jaime snarled in terror as he kicked open their chamber door. "You could have _died_."

"But I didn't," she purred and began stripping her armor away. "I knew I wouldn't, because I wouldn't allow it to happen."

"Just a few weeks ago you were afraid of this," her horrified husband asserted. "You said so yourself. Why the change? Why didn't you tell me that you already knew?" And then he frowned even deeper and said, "And why haven't I been coming inside you for the last two weeks then?"

"You're worried about that?" she laughed as the rest of her armor fell away, leaving her in normal clothes. With a mischievous smile, she went to help Jaime out of his armor as well. Arya couldn't recall a time in her life where she wanted to fuck more than she did _right_ now. "I could only feel them as of a few days ago. I suppose your seed took hold back at the Rock, maybe on our wedding night, and I just couldn't feel them until they had grown. I've been so busy that I didn't even notice the signs."

Jaime took that as a cue to examine her, so he pulled her shirt over her head and started looking at every inch of her skin. Arya purred deliciously as his hands ran over her belly and then her sensitive breasts. They were already beginning to swell, and it made his touch almost unbearably arousing. Her hands sped up on loosening his breastplate, as he furrowed his brow and kept touching her everywhere.

"And you're sure?" he asked for the hundredth time.

"Unequivocally," she assured as his armor came loose. "Now, brother, fuck me until I scream."

"Gods," her husband gasped. "What in the Seven Hells did that dragon do to you?" It was a question that didn't need an answer, because Jaime was as hard as she was wet. Fighting filled their blood with need, and Arya wasn't about to sit idly by while her husband was right here in front of her, just waiting to be seduced.

She dropped to her knees and kissed along the leather of his breeches where it covered his cock. His eyes met hers and she reveled in the darkness of his emerald gaze; he wanted her badly. Now they weren't coming together to make a child, they were coming together to celebrate their success on the battlefield and off it as well. Their son would have siblings, and the twin lives they created inside her were flourishing. Sons, she could tell.

Her magic had never felt so strong, and every fire in the castle roared with life as Jaime gave into her lusty request. It tingled in her fingertips as his lips touched her skin and burned in her belly as his cock slid into her cunt. It poured from her like water as she came, with his seed filling her uselessly, and her fingers dug into Jaime's neck. His blood flowed down his back as her nails broke skin, and, distantly, she noted the cuts on her hands from fighting all day had opened as well. Their blood mixed together as it ran along his skin, and Arya thought it looked lovely in the candlelight.

Their lust was so potent, so all consuming, that Jaime recovered even before she was done reeling from the first release. He continued thrusting into her, shaking the bed with the force of their lovemaking, and Arya cried out from the pleasure that was almost too much to bear. Her lover growled possessively as she could feel her fingertips heat up and probably sear his skin. If she hadn't been so lost in her own passion, she would have known to be worried; she had never lost control of her magic before. But Jaime was pushing her over the edge again, and this time only the solace of sleep waited afterward.

 

* * *

 

She woke slowly the next morning, feeling warm and alive, but drained from the previous day's activities. Jaime had his arm thrown over his waist and his hand rested on her belly, where their children were growing inside her womb. She smiled and allowed herself to enjoy the feeling of their blaze of magic within her. Their sons would inherit her blood, and her magic with it.

Arya laid back down amongst the pillows and sighed blissfully. That's when the first inkling that something was wrong set in, and she puzzled over what it could be. She wasn't wounded, and her children were burning brighter than even the previous day, so it wasn't that. Her head turn to look at Jaime on her left, whose face was pressed into the pillows and his golden hair spilled everywhere. He was breathing evenly and his arm was tight around her waist, but, somehow, she knew it was something with him that was wrong.

Her eyes narrowed as she ran them over what skin she could see; there was dried blood on his back, but that was from the night before. His skin glowed in the morning light, and his hair was brighter than she had seen it in some time, so he _looked_ healthy enough.

Then it occurred to her all at once. He was on her _left_ , which meant the arm around her was his _right_. Her eyes went to his hand, whole and unblemished, resting on her stomach. She grabbed it up gently and ran her fingers over every digit. It was smooth, and barely sword roughened at all, but it was there. Her eyebrows went into her hair as she reached over to shake him awake.

"Jaime," Arya hissed. " _Jaime_."

"Mm?" he hummed as his head came up from the pillows and Arya realized that it was much more than a new sword hand that she was dealing with. "What is it, sister?" he asked in a half asleep, totally mischievous tone. It suited his face even better now than it usually did, because his face was young and unlined. Jaime was a far cry from being old, but the man, no the _boy_ , before her appeared to be the same age as herself. He finally took note of her shocked face and opened his eyes more fully, they were brilliantly green. He repeated with insistence, and worry crept into his voice, "What? What's wrong? Is it the baby--." He lifted himself up and staggered slightly as he misjudged his right arm's length now that it had a hand. Funny, she thought distantly, how quickly he had adapted to not having one after a lifetime of being whole.

Jaime lifted his right hand to his face with horror, disbelief, and excitement warring on his features. He opened and closed his fist and touched his face before waving it at her slightly. "Did you do this?" he asked incredulously as he continued to examine his long missed hand. "Is this magic?"

"Well," Arya choked out. "It's certainly something. But I didn't... I didn't even know I could _do_ that. I've never tried."

"I never asked, but now I'm sorely regretting it," Jaime cried with a smile breaking out over his face. He looked so beautiful that it threatened to make her faint. Jaime was a beautiful man in his thirties, but at seventeen? He was magnificent. "I don't know how you did it, but thank the _Gods_ you did! Arya, you're," he paused to draw in a gasp of awe. "You're fucking perfect, do you know that?"

"I didn't even try to do it," she pointed out, but it was weak to her ears as she was still just staring at his young face. His chest was bare of all hair, not that he had much to begin with, and slightly less muscled. His hair was much longer now and shone like beaten gold. Jaime hadn't even noticed the rest of himself yet.

"I don't care if you tried or not," he laughed joyfully. "You've given me back my sword hand, one way or another, so thank you!"

"That's not all," she whispered and he finally looked up to see her eyes glazed and confused. Unable to explain in words, she urged, "The mirror, go to it." Jaime carefully climbed out of bed, and then he seemed to realize what she meant.

"What in the _Seven Hells_?" he exclaimed loud enough to bounce off the stone walls as he rushed to the mirror to examine himself. "I'm-I'm so _young_."

"Yes," Arya agreed as she rose from the bed to follow him, to touch him and make sure he was real. "You are."

They stared at his reflection for a long time, as she ran her hands over him as he had done to her the night before. He was the same, and, yet, so different. He looked much like he had when he had come to visit Winterfell in her youth, though he was further from that age now than he had been before. All the scars off the war had faded from him and he was renewed. She tried running some of her magic over his skin only to find that it was indeed all real, and not simply a glamour that her mind had conjured up.

Eventually the shock subsided enough for him to whirl around and fix her with a suspicious stare. "You _prefer_ me like this, don't you, wife? Was I getting too old for you?"

"Oh hush," she snapped though it was obvious he was japing. "I liked you fine the way you were."

That seemed to sober him slightly, as he reached out to take her hand; he made sure to use the right. "Do you still like me now?" he asked carefully. "I'm not... Too young now, right? If your magic did this, surely you wanted it on some level?"

"No, or," she paused to think. "I liked you as you were, I _loved_ you as you were, but I still love you now, of course. I never dreamed of making you younger, like me, but I did dream of you whole. I wanted you to have your sword hand back, so we could continue fighting together for the rest of our lives. I wanted you to live a long and happy life with me, and I didn't want to outlive you. But, no, I didn't long to make you young again." She hastily added, "Not that I'm complaining. You're quite beautiful."

"Handsome," her husband corrected, deadpan. "I tired of being called 'beautiful' when people were still mistaking me for Cersei."

Arya laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck; he was the same height at least. "You could pass for a woman without teats in a gown, love. I believe beautiful fits."

That seemed to awake the lust from the night before in him because he smirked and lifted her, stronger now than ever, into his arms and carried her to the bed. "Allow me, my Lady," he purred as he spread her legs with his hands. "To remind you of just how much man I am."

"When you're fucking me, brother, I prefer you to be more a lion," she returned with equal purr to her voice.

"You want me to be an animal, sister?" Jaime questioned as he licked along her thigh in one long swath. Arya could easily see why Cersei had taken her own twin to bed now; in his youth Jaime was the perfect picture of sexuality. She wasn't sure that, if they had been siblings by blood, that she wouldn't have done the same. His tongue traveled along the length of her leg and stopped so close to her cunt that she almost sobbed. He looked up with shining green eyes filled with dark promise and finished, "So be it, but be careful what you wish for or else you just might get it."


	18. The Sun Sets In The West

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I decided to go with the two stories plan. So there is an epilogue coming to this story, that will tie up a few of the loose ends, and the rest will come in the second half. I will post the second story at the same time as I add the epilogue to this one, so you don't have to wait between stories for the continuation. I intend to write at the same pace, so no fear about me leaving off here either. After it's all done, I intend to go back through and do major revisions that may be worth a second read through.
> 
> Songs for this Chapter:  
> Born to Rise by Redlight King (More like Arya's PoV.)  
> There's No Going Back by Sick Puppies (Jaime's PoV.)

Jaime felt more god than man, and the first person to make the mistake of ruining that for him was going to leave in pieces. He felt alive, whole, energized. Just _young_ again. So young that he hadn't even recognized he was beginning to feel older the way he was before. Half his age had been taken off him by whatever magic Arya had accidentally performed, and Jaime wasn't about to question the generosity of the Gods. He walked through the halls of the New Castle with a spring in his step and a dagger-like smile on his face, and, for once, it wasn't for a lack of happiness.

He whistled the tune to 'The Rains of Castamere' as he ducked into the great hall to break his fast. His father, uncle, and Daven were already gathered and discussing something or other. Jaime grinned wider and quickly snuck up behind them.

"Morning," he greeted cheerfully as he slid in beside Daven. Every pair of eyes at the table turned to look at him with varying degrees of shock and horror. Jaime just let them bask in his presence as he piled up a plate of food; Arya had wrung every ounce of seed out of him that morning and he was famished from the exertion. His little wife was tucked away in bed, happily asleep, and Jaime was loathe to wake her yet. They would be riding for home today, if they were lucky, and she would need to be astride a horse all day. Her pregnancy would likely be sapping her energy soon, and Jaime looked forward to the chance to take care of _her_ for once.

"I take it Arya found a way to restore your hand," his father said calmly, though Jaime could hear the note of amusement in his voice. He was best versed with Arya's magic, and it didn't surprise Jaime that he wasn't overly concerned.

"She thought that slaying a dragon was price enough for returning it to me," he japed and lifted his right hand up for everyone to see. "All I had to do was make her scream--."

"That's enough," Tywin cut him off sharply with a disapproving glare. "Save your obscenity for the troops." Jaime laughed and felt almost relieved that his father hadn't changed _entirely_ overnight, like he had himself.

"As you will, father," he conceded with a smile.

"You lucky cunt," Daven sighed and Tywin sent him another glare. "Oh, sorry uncle. Lucky 'fool' then, coz. How do I get your wife to make _me_ younger? I can make her scream just as well as--."

"I do believe I said 'enough'," Tywin said harshly. "Now both of you, be silent. We've been discussing how best to use our new Northern alliance to our advantage. The people of White Harbor consider us to be their saviors, and our influence has grown significantly from this victory. They are eager to rally behind a 'Stark' again, so Arya will need to be the one to negotiate. We should use this opportunity to secure the North. Bolton was a good pawn for a time, but he cannot be trusted. Especially now that reports tell us that his bastard is twice the madman as his father."

"Isn't that always the case?" Jaime japed, and Daven laughed, but his uncle and father sent him withering glares. His uncle was as resistant to such references as his father considering his own son had fallen into Cersei's bed. Jaime just smiled sharply, "Come on now, that was funny. What joy do I have if I can't even make light of my own mistakes."

"Your mistakes nearly brought our House to ruin, and every peasant that Joffrey murders puts their blood on our name. You have just recently proven your worth to me again; I would not suggest you so quickly tarnish it with ill-made japes and disregard for the seriousness of your position," his father lectured. "Your duty is to stand by Arya and support her, as a wife would do a husband. And to--."

" _I'm the wife_?" he sputtered and Daven cackled at his cousin's misfortune. His great hand slapped Jaime on the back and he roared, "If _that_ isn't the truth!" Jaime just shot him a warning glare and turned back to his father to raise more issue with that statement, only his father didn't seem willing to hear it.

" _And_ to give her children that carry on the family line," Tywin finished.

"What about Tommen?" Jaime asked as he steeled his features. If his father intended to fight him on this...

"Tommen has been named Arya's heir, and I will have him adopted and legitimized by her when we return to the West. But, as you may remember, not always do our firstborn children display the qualities necessary to rule a House. I would have never thought you would turn out to be a disappointment, but it happened anyway. More children will ensure that there will be an heir prepared to rule among them," his father explained with an impatient glare, like he was annoyed at Jaime for even asking such a foolish question.

"Well," Jaime said as he leaned back and relaxed a bit. "You needn't worry. She's with child." Daven let out a pathetic whine that Jaime sent him a gloating smirk over, and his father raised an eyebrow.

"Congratulations, nephew," Kevan offered with a sincere tone. "I'm sure the child will be healthy."

"And she is certain?" his father demanded before Jaime could respond to his uncle. He nodded and Tywin frowned like he was receiving bad news. There was a moment's pause before his father said, "I suppose it was inevitable." Immediately after that, his father got up and left the great hall with a peculiar look on his face.

"What's wrong with uncle?" Daven asked tactlessly as he looked between Tywin's retreating back and Jaime's confused face. He shrugged at his cousin and continued to watch his father until the door swung closed behind him.

Their uncle spoke after Tywin was gone and explained, "He's worried for her. Remember, nephew, my brother lost his wife on the birthing bed. He's torn between pride and fear for her health. He knew it was coming, but I don't think he truly ever prepared for the news."

"I see," Jaime commented with a slight nod. It made sense, and he felt badly for telling him around a table of other people. Perhaps he should have waited and allowed Arya to break the news to him. It was a fair concern, but Jaime couldn't even wrap his head around the idea of Arya dying on the birthing bed, so he pushed it from his thoughts.

They finished eating in silence after that, and Jaime retreated to his thoughts as he rushed to finish. He wanted to spend some more time with Arya before they had to leave, and they would be saddling the horses in a few hours unless Lord Wyman wanted something from them. He thought he might have to kill the man if he did; he wanted to be home with Tommen now.

 

* * *

 

It was almost another month before they had gotten back to Riverrun, and Arya's nameday had come and passed with almost no fanfare aside from Jaime's love. He looked at his beautiful wife, and to her stomach. It hadn't started to swell much yet, but he could feel it changing a little more each day. He looked forward to when she was swollen with life and forced to let him tend to her all day long. Cersei had forced him to stay away from her from the moment she learned she was with child to the day that she was to give birth, when she allowed him to return to her side for the hours of labor and then kicked him out again for the first few months of the child's life.

Though her middle hadn't begun to round yet, she was still experiencing symptoms brought on by her pregnancy. His little wife was a proper lioness lately, and found a reason to get viciously angry with every little annoyance. Jaime, ever the masochist, found it endearing and forced himself into her company every hour of the day while she snarled at him to leave. The only times of the day when she seemed glad to see him were when he was making love to her to satisfy her raging lust and when he was bringing her meals.

Arya hadn't yet experienced any sickness as a result of the children, but her tastes in food had changed slightly to prefer saltier flavors. And she seemed more motivated to spar than ever, but Jaime had been trying his best to keep her from doing so at every opportunity. She was, infuriatingly, _still_ better than him, even with his hand back, but at least now he could keep up for three times as long.

They were riding into Riverrun, with their army behind them and Nymeria's pack at their side. Jaime was interested to see how the wolves would mix with the lions, and he found himself actually missing the stupid beasts. But not even an ounce as much as he missed his son.

" _Papa! Mama!_ " Tommen's voice cried out as they rode in close, and Jaime leapt from his saddle like a man possessed to sweep the little boy into his arms as their son rushed to meet them. Tears sprung to his eyes as he picked up his boy and spun him around.

"Tommen," Jaime breathed and inhaled his son's scent; he was still as perfect as he remembered, if a little bigger.

His son pulled back and smiled at him as he tugged at a lock of Jaime's hair. "Different, papa," he said confidently. Jaime realized then that he must look absolutely nothing like his son remembered.

"Uh, yes," Jaime agreed sheepishly. "How did you know it was me?"

"I dreamed about it," Tommen replied with a nod and turned his bright green eyes to Arya, who had closed in to press kisses to their cub's face, before Jaime could question him on what that meant. "Mama," their little one giggled in greeting and returned the kisses. "Missed you so much," he whispered as he hugged the both of them tightly. Then, curiously, he asked, "Where are babies? I dreamed there were babies. And puppies."

Arya laughed as Jaime stared at his son, dumbfounded by this new development, and she said, "They're still in my belly, little one. They'll be here in a few months. Are you excited to be a big brother?"

" _Yes_ ," their cub exclaimed with glee. "I'm gonna be the best big brother; _ever_." They smiled at him lovingly, and Jaime made a note to ask Arya about his dreams later. Tommen seemed eager to just spend time with them and talk about all the things they had missed on their trip North. "Look, mama," he begged with what sounded like pride in his voice. "I learned how to take care of baby lions. Visenya is a mama too."

Sure enough, Visenya had come walking out with her pride to greet them, and each lion had a cub in its jaws. The small animals mewled softly as they set them down on the dirt, and Visenya approached Arya to nuzzle at her leg. Jaime shot Nymeria a glance, and the great direwolf crept up behind them.

Aegon and Rhaenys seemed weary and both hunched over the cub they had carried out, but Visenya turned to Nymeria and licked her snout without preamble. The wolf returned the greeting, and, the next thing that Jaime knew, all the wolves rushed forward to mingle with the lions like old kin. Aegon still didn't look happy, as wolf pups nipped at his tail, but he just let out a great huff and settled down on the ground to give them free reign to climb all over him.

Tommen was watching with an awed look on his face at the size of Nymeria, who dwarfed Visenya and her pride, so Jaime took the chance to pick up a pup by the nape and hold it up for his son to see. "You can pick one for yourself, little cub," he offered much to Tommen's delight. "Any color you'd like. But you'll have to take care of it yourself. Can you do that?" His son nodded vigorously, and Jaime knew he wasn't lying. Tommen took to responsibility like a fish to water.

A shriek let him know that his aunt had come out of the castle to see the mass of wolves in her courtyard, and Jaime and Arya chucked to themselves. They sent each other a look, and Jaime knew what it meant beyond all doubt: Let's go home.


	19. Epliogue: Whatever May Come

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright this is the end of the 'For Love and Legacy', but not the end of the story. As you may guess from this chapter, and the previous warnings of an upcoming time skip, the next story will have both Arya and Jaime, as well as their sons in a new situation far into the future. It ties in heavily with this story, because it wasn't really supposed to be a sequel. It should be posted at the same time as this chapter under the name: 'Queen's Gambit'. More information about it will be in the notes for that story, but you really need to know: it will contain more warnings than this one and the added content may put people off reading. Please read the warnings for the next story very carefully, because this story can end right here and not tarnish your opinion of it. 
> 
> Major revisions will be happening on this story over the course of tomorrow and the next day, so you may want to check back and reread it's all done. While I do that, the sequel will be updated slowly, so fair warning.
> 
> Song for this Chapter: With Arms Wide Open by Creed
> 
> (Also, if you wonder why I picked these names, it's a personal preference thing. Almost all male OCs I dream up have a very limited set of names, and these fit twins the best. I didn't really want to repurpose something like 'Tytos' or 'Tyrion', where things may get confused later. They get to be as unique as 'Jaime' and 'Cersei'.)

Arya wasn't sure what she expected childbirth to entail. She had prepared for the unglamorous side, and her aunts Genna and Dorna had warned her hundreds of time about the pain. It wasn't the pain that bothered her now, she had taken sword wounds, but the boring length of it. She had been laboring for hours already, and the Maester was making no indications that it was almost over.

Jaime sat by her side, pale as a ghost, and clutched harder at her hand than she at his. He had been away from her went she went into labor, which was a rare occurrence lately, and Arya figured he must be angry with himself for leaving when he did. She had _just_ convinced him to go spend time by the sea with Tommen for a few hours and give her some time alone. Her sweet husband had been stuck to her side almost from the moment she told him she was with child, while back in the North.

"It's going to be okay," Jaime assured himself under the guise of assuring her, and she scoffed. He didn't even glare at her, as his frightened green eyes met her tired grey. It was hard to believe that he had been there for the birth of both Joffrey and Myrcella.

"I thought you had done this before," she muttered as another contraction rocked her body. "You're entirely too nervous."

"That was my sister giving birth to my nephew and niece," he replied softly. "You're my wife, and these are _my_ children."

"I'm not going to die, Jaime," she sighed. "I think you'd come and drag me out of whatever Hell they threw me in anyway. And our sons are as much alive as I am right now; I can _feel_ their magic, remember?"

"I know, but," Jaime looked at the Maester nervously. "Just in case."

"Suit yourself," Arya said, resigned, and continued to push. Her magic had been stronger than ever since the dragon, but she didn't always know how to control it properly. She had a sincere feeling that she could speed this up with it, but had no idea how. At least, she hoped, her healing, which had been increased to the point of absurdity, would continue after she was done getting these children out of her womb. It would be helpful in putting her body back in fighting condition, and make sure she was able to return to making love to her husband quickly.

"Keep going, my Lady!" Maester Volarik encouraged. "I can see the crown of the first one."

That was enough to spur her forward, and she pushed harder. The sooner this was over, the sooner she could meet her sons and rest. Jaime, smartly, stayed put as the Maester asked him if he'd like to see the child crowning.

"No, I've seen it once, and I will serve my wife better if you are not busy pulling me up off the floor," Jaime hissed as he almost crushed Arya's hand in his grip.

Arya laughed, against all odds, and pushed one more time. That appeared to be enough, because the next thing she heard was a baby's cry, and Jaime fidgeted violently in his seat.

"Do not stop pushing, my Lady," the Maester commanded as he handed the baby to a midwife, but Arya could hear the happiness in his voice. She knew her first child was healthy.

The second came bare seconds after the first, and Arya felt relief flood her body along with exhaustion. Both babies were hastily cleaned, and they were graced with the glorious sound of their wailing lungs. They were already vivacious things just seconds into life.

"You've borne two sons, my Lady," Volarik said with pride. "Both healthy, and you seem to be doing very well for your first children." Jaime deflated next to her out of pure relief and gently released the hand that he had crushed. Arya looked it over for good measure to make sure he hadn't broken any bones. Two smiling midwives came around the Maester holding two small bundles in their arms. Arya's arms shot out of their own accord to receive her son.

"The firstborn," the midwife said sweetly as she laid the baby into Arya's arms. "He looks just like his father." The moment her skin touched her son's, the baby stopped crying and looked up at her and Jaime with large grey eyes under a soft patch of golden blond hair.

The second midwife handed Jaime the twin, and she heard her husband take in a shaky breath as he held his newborn son for the first time. Her eyes caught the Maester's and she pointed them towards the door quietly. He motioned to the midwives, and they all left the room to give them privacy. As soon as the door shut on them, Jaime sobbed next to her and Arya finally let the pinpricks of tears in the corners of her eyes well up and spill over.

"They're," Jaime choked. "They're _perfect_. Arya, they're perfect."

"Yes," she agreed softly as she cried with her husband. Both boys were no longer crying, but staring at them like they didn't understand why _they_ were crying. The second infant had green eyes to match Jaime's and wisps of dark brown hair to match Arya's. They had a little of each of them in their features, but the firstborn was so clearly Jaime's son that no one would ever mistake him for otherwise. He looked a lot like Tommen, she noted.

They had already picked out two boy names, since Arya was quite sure that it was boys that they were expecting, and she looked down at her sons, Adrian and Damian respectively. It was their choice to break from tradition with the both of them, and choose new names rather than honoring old.

Adrian, the first boy, reached a tiny hand out and put it on Jaime's cheek to touch his rolling tears. Confused, their tiny son pulled his hand back and stared at that before making a soft cry of joy and repeating the motion. Jaime smiled, and Arya's heart swelled to sizes she didn't even know it could.

"Go get Tommen," she begged Jaime, and her husband nodded while he carefully positioned Damian in the crook of her free arm. He disappeared out the door for a few minutes, and Arya watched as Adrian nuzzled at his twin's cheek. She smirked; Jaime was rather excited at the prospect of two boys, because he half feared his attraction to siblings would be passed down, and he figured that two boys meant they would be safe from such things. She still expected that he would try his best to keep them apart more than he had been with Cersei.

"Mother," Tommen's voice came from the doorway. Their first cub was three now, and growing like a weed. He soon wouldn't fit in Jaime's arms. He had taken to using the words 'mother' and 'father' more often lately to show them he was growing up and responsible. He didn't seem to understand why that made them melancholy from time to time.

"Look, my cub, you're a big brother now," she explained as Jaime sat down with Tommen in his lap next to them. "You must always love and protect them, do you understand?" Their son nodded solemnly. Adrian looked up at his big brother and let out a little mewl. Tommen smiled at him, and the infant reached up a hand. Tommen extended his own and Adrian's little fingers wrapped around it tightly.

"I love you, little brothers," Tommen whispered sweetly. "I'm going to teach you so much."

"We'll teach them together," Jaime murmured as he pressed a kiss to their son's head and reached his own hand out to let Adrian grasp on of his fingers. Damian looked on quietly, but that didn't seem to be enough for his twin, who grabbed his little hand too and brought it up to hold Tommen's. Her boys laughed happily, and Arya marveled at how perfectly her life had fallen into place.

It felt easy to thank magic, but she knew it was equal parts hard work and luck. Finding Jaime, Tommen, and even Tywin had given her a future she was proud of beyond measure. A future worth fighting for each and every day. And, now, as she looked down at her two newborn cubs, she had every reason to believe the future yet to come was going to be just as glorious.

There were still wars left to win though, and battles left to fight, but the winter had set in fully now and it looked to be a long one. Her enemies were as paralyzed by it as she was, but the West was prepared for a winter that could last ten or more years. And, when the snows thawed, she would be ready for the battles ahead of her and meet them with swords in hand. Her husband and sons would be there too, by her side, to carry on their legacy, the legacy of House Lannister, for as long as they all should breathe.

Let the Dragon Queen come, let Joffrey marshal an army if he could, and let Stannis try to crush them. They would beat them all back and turn them all to dust. She wasn't just fighting for her future anymore, but her family's. And, for once, she understood her father's intense reliance on 'legacy', so he could leave something worth having for his children and his children's children. He had given them the tools, and the guidance, but what they did with it was theirs to determine.

Arya already knew what she wanted, and now she had the courage to grab at it. Three years of planning and waiting, and, when this winter was done, she was ready to put her father's plans into action. Gods help who dared to stand against them now.

**Author's Note:**

> Revised on June 26th.  
> Lots of added content and the song associated with the chapter changed for a better fit.


End file.
